


chasing visions of our futures

by mysteriousnight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, Trauma, eddie is working through some things, stan is alive and well because i say so, this thing is all about friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriousnight/pseuds/mysteriousnight
Summary: Eddie thought he was going to die, knew he was going to die, but then he didn't.But surviving was only half the battle. His life is a complicated mess of internalized shame and anger and guilt and a longing for a friend he cannot have. But as he lives, and has his friends by his side, he is able to find the happiness he had gone so long without.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	chasing visions of our futures

> _"Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies"_ \- Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

The pain was everywhere, spreading out from his stomach, reaching its tendrils of hurt out to every inch of his body. Time seemed to slow, every second an eternity. Eddie knelt over Richie, feeling the pincer inside him, feeling the pain, sharp and distinct. Eddie looked down, watching his blood splatter onto Richie, watching his blood stain Richie’s shirt, Richie’s face.

“Richie?” Eddie reached up to the stinger impaled in his chest. His hands ghosted around it, unable to touch it. He was scared, terrified, yet his mind was blank, unable to think of anything but a single word. “Richie”

His mouth slowly filled with blood, terror overtaking him. Eddie couldn’t react, couldn’t do anything but look at Richie, wishing everything was different. Wishing he never came back to Derry, that he wasn’t underground fighting an evil clown, that he never forgot about the Losers, that he hadn’t spent the last twenty seven years of his life unhappy. He wished he could of had a life he loved, a life with _Richie_.

Eddie tore his eyes away from the blood, letting them focus on Richie’s, but what he saw in those eyes was worse than blood. The blood was nothing, it does not mean anything, there was no pain to look at. The blood did not make his heart clench and a tight, aching feeling take over his chest. 

There was pain in Richie’s eyes, pain and guilt and regret. Looking into those eyes made Eddie feel a pain that overpowered the pain in his stomach, a deep longing, a connection of sadness, a realization of the gravity of the situation.

Then the world was rushing by, his vision grew blurry, air rushed by him. The pain went numb as he hit the ground, rolling down the incline, not feeling anything. The numbness was a relief, a clarity for his mind to process the situation. 

But in that numbness, his fear took over. His thoughts raced, anxiety building up, his mind forcefully calculating his minuscule chance of living. He was imagining his funeral, a ghastly and depressing affair, as hands found his arms, positioning him up against the steps. He didn’t bother listening to what they were saying, listening instead to the long winded eulogy Myra was giving in his head. 

He pulled himself out of his thoughts when he felt pressure being applied to his stomach. Eddie could see Richie in front of him, could faintly feel his jacket being pressed to him. He looked at Richie, feeling a wave a regret come over him again, wishing he wasn’t there, wishing he was anywhere beside lying prone on the ground with a big, gaping wound that his life was slowly draining out of. 

A memory suddenly came to him, appearing at the forefront of his memory, pushing away his anxiety and fear, clearing his head.

“I almost killed him, the leper, my hands were on his throat, and I could feel him choking. I made him small.” Eddie forced a smile, realizing he had the answer to kill Pennywise. “He seemed so weak. He seemed… he seemed so weak.”

Eddie’s voice died away, his energy draining out of him. He felt weak himself. Every breath was a struggle. The others talked above him, but Eddie didn’t really hear what Mike was saying, he didn’t have enough strength to focus on that.

Then he was moving again, lifted up by Ben and Richie, being brought ... somewhere. Eddie tried to fight his thoughts that were telling him they shouldn't be bothering to move him, using their energy to take him with them. He was going to die, and every second made that fact more painfully clear.

They set him down against a wall and Ben backed off, his attention being pulled back to Pennywise with the screams of the others. But Richie stayed, keeping a hand against his wound. Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a comfort as he blocked the world out.

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice broke through the fog that began to form around his conscious. Eddie snapped his eyes open. Richie knelt beside him. Eddie didn’t want to discern the look on Richie’s face, didn’t want to know how Richie was feeling, how Richie was hurting.

“Richie, I got to tell you something…” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Richie moved closer, an openness in his face Eddie wasn’t use to seeing. Eddie knew what he should say, what he wanted to say. The words were on the edge of his tongue, teaming to be said, to finally lay out in the open what he had been hiding for years. But Eddie forced those words down, still unable to say them, even though he knew this was his final chance. “I fucked your mom.”

Eddie laughed, the sound choked out of him. A stab of pain struck him as he did, the laughter dissolving into coughs. Richie didn’t laugh, and in his silence Eddie felt a twisting in his chest, one formed by regret, by guilt, by an acknowledgment that he would never get a chance to tell Richie. He had blown his last chance on a stupid joke.

The moment was broken with a scream coming down to them. Richie turned away from him, alleviating Eddie from his awful stare, the hurt in his eyes still painfully clear in Eddie’s mind.

The sound became deafening. Pennywise was screaming as the rest of the Losers yelled insults, the noise reverberating off the walls. Eddie felt himself fade, hearing the voices get weaker. His breath growing shorter, each inhale sending a rippling pain throughout his body. 

Richie was still in front of him, hopelessly pressing his jacket to his wound. Eddie watched Richie, now turned away from him, yelling his own insults at Pennywise. Eddie could see the fury in Richie’s face, the anger, unbridled, overtaking his entire body. It reminded him of the first time they fought It, the anger Richie held as he swung the baseball bat at Pennywise. Eddie allowed his mind to delve back to that, to the laughter, to the freeness of childhood. 

A painful thought flashed through his mind. _I will never be young again._

Through his pain, Eddie smiled, a small, private smile, laced with grief. The numbness had disappeared, the sharp pain retaking its place. Eddie could see his vision grow darker, and allowed that darkness to overtake him. He kept his eyes on Richie’s profile, allowing that familiar sight to ground him, allowing him to take pleasure, however small, in that sight.

_At least the last thing I saw was you._

As the thought formed, darkness closed in, wrapping Eddie in it’s warm embrace.

  
  


The next thing Eddie felt was pain. It was not the sharp, all encompassing pain of before, but a mute ache, centering around his stomach.

He could feel something on his hand, a pressure, warmth, as if someone was holding it. It confused him, his mind slowly coming out of a drugged fog, unable to piece together a picture of where he was. 

He focused all his attention on his hand, still not opening his eyes, scared to see what was around him. If he was still down there, if he was in hell, if he was alone, he didn’t think he could take it. So he kept his eyes closed, feeling a calmness in his unknowing, a real Schrodinger's cat situation. If he didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t have to face the reality of his situation.

The hand holding his squeezed slightly. It was a squeeze for comfort, Eddie knew that, but it was tight, frantic, as if the one holding his hand was scared, trying to give comfort even when they had none themselves. 

_It’s Myra. Who else could it be?_

He groaned, realizing the truth of his thoughts. Who else would be holding his hand? He has a wife, the Losers knew that. They would have called her after they had gotten out. They would have told her he was dying. And she would have come, of course she would have come. She hadn’t heard from him in at least two days, and knowing her, she would have thought he was dead already. She wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to care for him, to “protect” him, to suffocate him with her concern.

Eddie groaned again, shifting slightly, trying to move his hand away, not quite processing that the movement would alert whoever was in the room with him that he was awake. Instead of the hand slipping off of his, it gripped tighter.

“Eddie!” A voice asked, but it wasn’t Myra’s voice. “Eds?”

In pure confusion, Eddie opened his eyes. Richie stood in his field of vision, his head hanging over his. Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, not quite believing what he was seeing, half expecting Richie’s face to be an illusion, that is would slowly melt into Pennywise’s face, or worse, Myra’s.

Richie pulled his face back, giving Eddie his space again. His hold was still like a vise grip, squeezing Eddie’s hand underneath his.

“Eds?” Richie’s voice was wavering, tears shining in his eyes. Eddie’s face calmed, finally believing it wasn’t a trick.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Eddie said, the words coming out small and scraggly, his throat dry.

Richie laughed, the bark of laughing dissolving into an ugly sob. Eddie stared at Richie as he struggled to hold back tears. Eddie took in Richie, looking him over. He looked bad. His hair was a mess, curling up awkwardly around his head, clearly unbrushed. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, his face pale and strained. He looked deathly.

An audible sob alerted Eddie that Richie was in fact crying. Even though he had been staring at his face, Eddie didn’t quite process Richie’s tears, his mind still hazy from the drugs in his system. Richie was frantically wiping his tears away, as if he didn’t want to cry in front of Eddie.

“Richie?” Eddie tried to reach his other arm towards him, but a spike of pain stopped him in his tracks. “Rich, are you alright?”

Richie responded with a nod, his head half turned away, trying to hide his tears. A silence covered the room, broken by Richie’s strangled sobs and the beeps of the machines. It persisted until Richie gained control of himself. When he turned fully back to Eddie, his eyes were red, still brimming with tears.

“God, I’m such a fucking crybaby.” Richie laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Eddie stared up at him, still reeling in what was happening. Eddie swallowed, suddenly feeling the dryness of his throat.

“Water?”

Richie’s eyes widened and he turned away, releasing his grip on Eddie’s hand. The lack of contact left Eddie longing for it back, his hand feeling unnaturally cold. Richie returned to the bedside a moment later, a small paper cup in his hand, a straw poking out of it. He moved it in front of Eddie’s mouth, waiting for him to drink. Eddie shot a curious glance at Richie before leaning forward, using the straw to drink the water. It was immediate relief, the tight, scratchy quality of his throat disappearing. 

Eddie leaned back, his head hitting the pillow again. Richie put the water on a table beside the bed, going back to his position leaning against the bed. Eddie looked up at Richie and then closed his eyes again.

“Where are the others?”

“Oh, they went to get some food. They should be coming back soon, they only went to the cafeteria.”

Eddie nodded, not wanting to speak. He was tired, exhaustion teaming on every nerve. But he wanted to be awake, _needed_ to be awake, to see the Losers again, to make sure everyone is still there, that they all survived.

A silence fell over the room again. Eddie opened an eye, wondering if Richie left, but he was still there, standing over his bed. Richie was looking past him, at some machine behind him. He seemed lost in thought, utterly too quiet. It wasn’t his normal behavior: his loud and brash jokes, his constant talking. He was subdued, as if he was exhausted, too tired to put on a funnyman persona.

“They didn’t have milkshakes, Richie, so I got you a smoothie instead.” Ben’s voice floated into the room, a din of other voices following him. The voices entered the room, all moving towards Richie, who hadn’t moved, eyes still focused on the machine behind Eddie.

Eddie opened his other eye, pushing himself up so he wasn’t lying completely on his back. As he moved, all eyes went to him. 6 bodies leaned down around him.

“Eddie!” 

His name rained down around him, six voices speaking in unison. Eddie gave a smile, trying to reassure them that he felt okay. 

Bev’s hand gripped his hand, the same one Richie was previously holding. Mike and Bill stood on the other side of the bed, both placing their hand upon his arm. Ben placed a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting. Stan stood beside Beverly, his smile wide, looking the happiest Eddie has seen him since he got to town. They all talked at once, their voices mixing into a cacophony of noise, asking him how he was doing, tell him it was good to see him.

“Uh, hey guys.” Eddie left out a dry laugh, not knowing what to say. Why do you say when you just wake up after being stabbed by an evil clown and thought you were dead? “How long was I ...?” Eddie trailed off, not quite sure how to continue. 

The others moved off of him, pulling up chairs around the bed instead. They sat in a circle, surrounding the bed. Bev pulled up a chair for Richie and pulled him down into the chair. He didn’t say anything, his face haunted, unfocused.

“It’s been a week, Eddie.” Bev told him, her hand resting gently on his. She brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, smiling at him. Eddie frowned.

“What?” Eddie said, taken aback. His mind immediately started to list all the things he needed to do. He should call his work, tell them he wasn’t going to be in next week. He should call Myra. She probably filed a missing persons report already. Eddie swallowed down his anxiety, not wanting it to take over. He looked at the faces of the other Losers, taking in their expressions of concern. “What happened?”

They turned to Bill instinctively, still playing by the fact that he was their leader and always will be. He sat up, taking the role as it was needed, always there for them.

“We killed It. We destroyed Its h-h-heart. And then we, uh,” Bill stopped looking at Mike, his eyes questioning, unsure if he should tell the whole story right after Eddie woke up.

“We carried you back up, Ben and I.” Mike picked up the story. Bill gave him a look of thanks. “And, well, we thought you were gone, but we drove to the hospital, and then they took you and...”

Mike dropped his head, trailing off. Bill placed a hand on his arm. Eddie nodded, understanding the story. He had been in a coma for a week, a week that must have felt like an eternity to the Losers, unsure if he was ever going to wake up, if he was going to come back from what had happened.

Eddie swallowed nervously, looking around the room at his friends. They looked back at him, watching him, as if they thought they would never see this sight again, of Eddie alive and moving. The thought hurt, twisting his heart.

“We should probably let you rest.” Stan spoke up first, his eyes on his watch. He lifted his head and gave a smile to Eddie. “It’s late. We should all probably go get some sleep.”

Eddie nodded, well aware of how tired he was. As everyone got up, Eddie could see the exhaustion in their movements, slow and sluggish, their limbs heavy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” Bill smiled at him, tears brimming in his eyes. The sight made Eddie want to cry. The expression was broken, holding onto the last threads of composure.

“We’ll be here bright and early, don’t you worry.” Mike grabbed Eddie’s hand and gave it a squeeze before letting go. 

Bill and Mike walked to the door and hesitated, turning back once more, staring soberly at Eddie, as if they couldn’t quite believe he was awake and okay.

“Bye Eddie.” Stan patted his leg and moved over to Richie. He sent a pointed look at Richie, communicating something Eddie didn’t understand. Before he could further examine that look, Ben was wrapping him in an awkward hug.

“It’s good to see you.” Ben’s voice was muffled by Eddie’s shoulder, his breath hot against his shoulder. Ben pulled back, smiling, tears almost falling. He looked happy, unbelievably so, the very sight warmed Eddie’s heart.

“You too.” Eddie smiled, his spirit rising with the happiness Ben was exerting. Then someone was ruffling his hair and that smile formed into a frown the second the hand touched his head.

“See you later, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s voice was light, regaining some of the joking quality which was lacking when Eddie first woke up. Eddie moved his head away, trying to get out from under the hand that was furiously moving through his hair.

“Stop it, Richie, what the fuck! I literally just woke up from a coma and you fucking mess up my hair! Get off!” Eddie’s voice rose in volume as he spoke, finishing in a voice close to yelling. The hand moved away, leaving his hair disheveled.

Eddie glared up at Richie, who just looked down at him, wearing an easy smile. The smile almost broke Eddie’s glare, but he kept it strong, not wanting to let Richie know that him ruffling his hair was the best thing that happened since he woke up.

“Come on, Richie.” Stan sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you.” Eddie snapped with no heat behind his voice. Richie’s smile just grew as he followed Stan out of the room. Eddie watched them leave, knowing a smile had formed on his face. The comfort of going back to how they were, the constant bickering with Richie, is was familiar, warm, like he was home.

“Do you want anything before we leave?” Bev asked. Eddie looked at her, remembering his wife again, knowing he had to call her, dreading that he had to call her. But if he could talk to any of the Losers about his wife, he knew it would be Bev.

“Yeah, uh, can you stay a minute.” Eddie flicked glanced over at Ben, standing beside her. A flash of understanding crossed Ben’s face.

“I’ll see you back at the Town House.” Ben hugged Beverly with an arm. She nodded and smiled at him, soft, sweet, private. Eddie looked down, letting them have their moment. Ben crossed the room and left, closing the door behind him.

Bev sat in her chair again, elbows on the edge of his bed. Eddie looked at her again. His throat felt tight, anxiety ridden. He didn’t want to call Myra, wishing he could just slip quietly out of the life he created with her. It felt wrong; there was no love, there was no happiness. The past twenty seven years was just going through a daily routine, no enjoyment, emotions muted, something missing that he couldn’t place. 

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, knowing that once he did, he would have to face that life again. He wished he could just leave that in the past, start a new life, a life after Derry, a life where he had all his memories, where he had all his friends. But that wasn’t how life worked, and he had to go back to his wife. He had a commitment to her, an obligation to tell her he was okay.

“This is about Richie, isn’t it.” Bev’s voice was soft. She looked at him, her eyes calm, gentle. Eddie raised his eyebrows, the sureness in her voice startling him.

“No, it’s about my wife. But what about Richie?” 

Guilt churned in Eddie’s stomach. He cared more about Richie, cared more about what was going on with his best friend than about his wife. In truth, his concern about Myra paled in comparison to his concern over Richie. His worries about Richie, about why he was so quiet, about him sobbing when he woke up, filled his mind, overpowering any thoughts he had about anything else.

Bev pursed her lips and look down. Eddie waited, but the silence persisted.

“Bev, what’s wrong with Richie?” Eddie’s voice was low. He was impatient, wanting to know what he missed when he was injured. It frustrated him, being out of the loop. He had been in stasis for a week, stuck in a coma, while he friends dealt with the world, with their lives after It. “Bev, please.”

Eddie grabbed her hand, holding it tight. Bev looked back at him. Her eyes looked haunted, sadness and worry mixing together. The sight made Eddie’s stomach feel hollow.

“After we defeated It, we went back to you, to where we left you. You weren’t breathing, your eyes were closed, we couldn’t feel a pulse. We were going to leave you down there. The place was coming apart and we thought you were dead.” Bev spoke softly, barely above a whisper. She squeezed his hand and gave a watery smile. “Richie wouldn’t leave you down there, though. He kept insisting you weren’t dead. I didn’t know if he was just in denial or actually _felt_ something, felt that you were alive somehow, but when I saw his face, I knew we couldn’t leave you.”

Bev went quiet, her eyes averting Eddie’s. He could see tears in his eyes and feel similar ones brimming in his eyes.

“So you guys brought me up and took me to the hospital.” Eddie filled in, allowing Bev to regain her composure. She nodded and looked at Eddie again, stronger, steadier than before.

“Eddie, he was hysterical. I’ve never seen someone cry like that, like he lost a part of himself.” Bev paused, letting out a puff of air. Eddie couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to make of what Bev was telling him.

“We sat in the waiting room, while you were in surgery. We were there for hours, just waiting, hoping the doctor would come out and tell us something. That whole time Richie held my hand. And, honey, the way he held it, like it was for dear life.”

Eddie thought back to when he first woke up, the grip Richie had on his hand. It was like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, but Eddie didn’t know what picture the puzzle was making.

“When we finally got word you were stable but in a coma, we decided to go back to the Town House and get cleaned up. We were still covered in dirt and blood. The hospital staff probably thought we were crazy. But Richie wouldn’t leave the hospital. I finally convinced him, telling him you would be disgusted if you woke up and he was covered in blood and dirt.”

“Well you got that right.” Eddie smiled, finding his voice again. Though he smiled, he didn’t feel happy. Richie was covered in _his_ blood. Eddie saw it on him, saw it come out of him, saw it cover Richie. If he had woken up to find his blood still on Richie, he wouldn’t have been able to take it. Just the thought of it made Eddie feel sick.

“He has barely left your side since then. I think maybe twice, but each time no longer than twenty minutes. And he has been quiet, barely joking around. It’s strange, Eddie. It’s like a piece of him broke when you almost died. That hair ruffling was the closest he has been to his old self.”

Beverly stopped talking, letting a tense silence fall. Eddie felt uneasy, not liking that he had this effect on Richie. He wanted to apologize, apologize for almost dying, for putting Richie through that, but how would he do that? 

“You mentioned your wife.” Bev said after a moment. Eddie snapped his head back to her, heart pounding at the very mention of Myra. He never noticed how anxious she made him, how upset he got when thinking about her.

“Oh, it’s not important.” Eddie shrugged, pushing down his anxiety. If it had already been a week without contacting her, one more day won’t be anymore harm.

Bev watched him, worried. 

“Are you sure, honey? Do you want me to call her?”

“No!” His answer was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He grimaced, wishing he hadn’t been so outright in his dislike. “I mean, I’m pretty tired Bev. It can wait.”

Bev nodded, understanding.

“You know, you don’t need to call her, if you don’t want to.” 

Those words made relief flood over Eddie, followed closely by guilt. He didn’t want to call Myra, in fact he would rather never talk to her again. But he was his wife; he had married her and promised to be there for her. He had to call her, to let her know he was alive, to stop her worrying, even if it upsets him.

“Thanks, Bev, but it’s okay.” Eddie smiled through his lie, gritting his teeth. Bev looked him, sadness in her eyes. “I’ll just call her tomorrow, probably would disturb her if I called now, it’s pretty late, isn’t it.”

“Alright.” Bev stood, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go. She looked down at him, a well of understanding present on her face, so much so that it scared him. She could sense his anxiety, his fear of Myra.

She walked to the door and opened it, but didn’t go quite yet. Eddie looked at her, waiting for her to leave, barely holding onto his composure, sure if she didn’t leave soon he would break.

“I love you.” Bev’s voice floated across the room, a warm smile on her face. Eddie could feel his throat tighten, his eyes stinging.

“I love you too.” His voice was choked, cracking with emotion. Bev didn’t mention it, didn’t pry any further, understanding he was on the edge, understanding he needed to be alone.

She left, closing the door softly behind her. As it clicked into place, Eddie released a shaky breath, feeling a tension release from his body. He felt tears running down his cheeks, his breathing hitching, but he didn’t care. 

He was _alive_. By some unbelievable miracle, he had survived. He was still able to cry, still able to breath, still able to love. He had been on the brink of death but didn’t fall over, didn’t succumb to the peaceful silence death would have brought. But now he had to face the world again, a world without Pennywise, a world where he has his memories, a world where the monster who terrorized him all his life is dead and he is alive.

Eddie layed down, looking up at the ceiling. His body hurt, pain spiking with every heaving breath he took. But the pain was okay, the tears were okay, the anxiety and guilt he felt were all okay, because he was still alive to experience them, and his friends would come back in the morning, bringing their warmth and comfort, and he would heal. He would be healed with their love, and they would heal in turn, knowing that he was still here with them

Eddie didn’t know what would happen, but if his friends were there, he knew he would be okay. And he knew his friends were always going to be with him, even if they were halfway around the world. They had a connection going beyond physicality; their souls were connected, made of the same stardust. 

Eddie slipped into a dreamless sleep, his heart heavy, yet full of love. He was going to be okay, he knew that.

___________________

Eddie awoke to a nurse shuffling around his room. She stood beside his bed, changing the iv bags. Eddie moved to sit up, needing to change his position. His body felt stiff, a dull hum of pain laying across his stomach. He grunted as he moved, unaccustomed to the pain.

“There’s people here to see you. I told them to wait outside because you were still sleeping.” The nurse casually mentioned to Eddie as she finished hanging the last bag. “Should I tell them to come in?”

“Yes please. Thank you.”

The nurse nodded and left, taking the old iv bags with her. Eddie could hear her talk to someone in the hall as he adjusted his position, finally finding a comfortable sitting position. 

“I hope you’re hungry because I brought pancakes!” Richie’s voice exploded into the room, his body following shortly, carrying a tupperware container of, what Eddie assumed, pancakes.

Richie crossed to Eddie’s bed, holding the container before him. Eddie accepted, cautiously.

“Who made these? It couldn’t possibly be you.” Eddie rose his eyebrows, questioning Richie, who just smirked and pulled up a chair.

“You’re right, I didn’t make them, but I just spent a wonderful night with your mom, who treated me to pancakes this morning. I just thought I would be nice and bring the extras to you.”

Richie lounged in the chair, quickly making himself at home. Eddie realized he probably spent the last week in the same position, situated beside Eddie’s bed, so it _was_ familiar to him. Eddie pushed that thought quickly away and scrunched up his nose in a look of disgust.

“Why would you say that? I was going to enjoy these pancakes, but now I can’t.” Eddie thrusted the container back to Richie, who pushed it right back to him.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother, after all her hard work making them?”

“Fuck you.” Eddie snapped, but opened the container anyways. 

The sight of pancakes was otherworldly. Eddie didn’t realize just how hungry he was, having not actually eaten anything for a week. The smell alone made his mouth water, and he had to restrain himself from eating them with his hands.

“Do you bring utensils, dumbass?” 

Before Richie could respond, Mike walked in, followed closely by Stan. 

“We’re here to save you.” Stan said as he sat in a chair. Richie rolled his eyes and playfully pushed Stan’s shoulder.

“I’m not hurting him! I gave him pancakes!”

“Without a fork!” Eddie said, making his voice louder than Richie's.

“You can eat them with your hands if you weren't such a freak!”

“Just because I have manners doesn’t make me a fucking freak, you idiot!”

“Here. I brought you a knife and fork.” Mike tossed the plastic utensils onto Eddie’s lap, shutting Richie and Eddie up.

“Can you guys go five minutes without screaming at each other? It’s 10 in the morning.” Stan sighed. Eddie sent a pointed glare at Richie, but Richie met it with one of his own.

“Great going, Eddie, you’ve upset Stan.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his pancakes.

Five minutes later they were gone. Each bite was like heaven. Eddie didn’t care who made them, though it was probably Mike, but he just knew they were the best things he ate in recent memory.

While he ate, Mike situated himself at the table near Eddie’s bed. He proceeded to pull out board games from a backpack, stacking them on the table. Eddie watched him, reading the game titles, but he was too invested in his pancakes to question it. 

Eddie swallowed the last bite of his pancakes and put down his fork, feeling happily stuffed. Mike pulled one last game out of his backpack and sank back in his chair, a smile on his face.

“What is with the board games, Mike? Are we eleven?” Eddie asked, causing Richie, who was previously distracted by his phone, to notice the board games. 

“Is this a fucking sleepover? You should have told me, Mikey, I didn’t bring my jammies!” 

Mike laughed at their comments and shrugged.

“I don’t know, guys. I thought it would be fun, now that the seven of us can be together without having to worry about a killer clown.”

Eddie smiled, the explanation genuinely heartwarming, even if is was a sad truth. Even as children, their fun was always under the shadow of Pennywise, their memories haunting them. Twenty seven years later and they are finally out from under that shadow, finally able to live their lives without worrying about the living embodiment of their worst fears. They were finally able to have fun without having to fight a demon later.

“I think it’s a great idea, Mike.” Stan said calmly, inserting himself into the conversation before Richie could speak again. 

“Well, Stan the Man thinks it’s a good idea, so I guess it is.” Richie held up his hands in surrender. 

“Thanks for acknowledging that my opinions are always right.” Stan said blankly. He stared at Richie without a glimmer of a smile. 

They suddenly burst out laughing, a type of uncontrollable laughter of children. Eddie’s stomach hurt, but he kept laughing, feeling a lightness he last felt in childhood.

“What did we miss?” Ben stepped into the room, the laughter dissipating. Bill and Beverly stood behind him in the doorway, looking at the four of them, confused, yet amused.

“Ah, triple B, glad you guys could join us!” Richie opened his arms, gesturing to the room, almost smacking Eddie in the face. He pushed his hand away before he did, shoving a little harder than necessary.

“Triple B?” Bill asked. He stepped around Ben to get out of the doorway.

“You know, Bill, Ben, Bev.” Richie pointed at each of them, explaining like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You all have names beginning with B.”

“Bill’s name actually starts with a W.” Eddie added, causing Richie to snap his head around and Stan to roll his eyes. Eddie could hear him mutter “ _Here we go again._ ”

“But we call him Bill, which begins with B, unless I’ve been misspelling Bill my whole life.”

“I know Bill starts with a B, asshole. You said they all have _names_ beginning with B, but Bill’s name is William, which doesn’t start with a fucking B.”

“Do we ever call him William? Unless when I got my memory back, my memories are all wrong, we never fucking call him William, therefore his name, at least to us, is Bill.”

“Richie, if I wasn’t confined to this hospital bed, I would strangle you.”

“Can you even reach my— Ahh!”

Eddie chucked the tupperware container at Richie’s head, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Richie reached for the container and brought his arm back to throw it. Eddie cried out and cringed away as best he could.

Before Richie could throw the container, Bev caught his arm, ripping the container out of his grip and smacking Richie on the head with it.

“Stop acting like children, Jesus Christ.” Bev set the container on the table, safely out of reach of Richie. She went and sat on the edge of Eddie’s bed, positioning herself so she was cross legged.

When Eddie was arguing with Richie, Ben and Bill had made their way into the room, sitting in their own chairs. The seven of them formed a small circle. Richie sat near the top of Eddie’s bed, with Stan sitting beside him. Bill sat next to Stan, looking through the stack of board games on the table. Mike and Ben completed the circle, with Bev on Eddie’s bed.

The sun, approaching midday brightness, floated into the room through the windows, lighting up the room in its warm light. Eddie felt light, happy, happier than he had been in a long time. _Probably has been twenty seven years_ , Eddie thought, knowing that only the Losers could make him feel like this, feel so free.

  
  


They day passed easily. They slowly went through the pile of board games, starting with Uno. They only played a single game, but that took them close to two hours to complete, ending with Bev looking at Ben’s remaining card and shouting what it was. This lead to an argument about cheating and when it was appropriate. The group was split with Eddie, Ben, and Mike claiming cheating was never acceptable. Bev, Bill, Richie, and Stan argued that sometimes cheating was okay, and in fact encouraged in games like Uno. The argument quickly escalated into the two sides shouting at each other, only ending when a nurse came in to tell them to keep quiet.

The sun rose and set as they went through the stack, going from Uno to Clue to Life to Chinese Checkers to Sorry to Operation. They made teams up when there were too many people for the game: Bev and Eddie, Richie and Stan, Mike and Bill and Ben.

The games were fun, the most fun Eddie felt in recent memory. They brought back shining memories of childhood, the warming feeling of nostalgia. 

Around seven, there was a rousing face off in Battleship between Bill and Mike. It had gone on long enough for Ben to leave, pick them all up dinner, get lost on the way back, and enter as Bill flipped his board as Mike made the winning guess. 

“Did you guys just finished? I’ve been gone for an hour.” Ben set the bag of food on the table, which was now empty. Most of the games had ended up on the floor, tossed aside after they finished playing.

“Where were you? Did you get lost or something?” Richie asked. He had his feet up on Eddie’s bed, tapping his foot against Eddie’s thigh to a random song. He had moved into that position when Battleship started. It was annoying at first, but Eddie didn’t push his feet away, instead he tried to figure out what song he was tapping. After an hour, Eddie was pretty sure it was Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer. Why Richie was thinking of a Christmas song no where near December, Eddie had no idea.

“I turned down a road that wasn’t here when we were kids and I ended up on the opposite side of town.” Ben said. The others stared at him incredulously. He ducked his head down, knowing what was coming.

“Why didn’t you just turn around?”

“And you just kept on driving even though you weren’t going in the right direction?”

“Does your phone not have google fucking maps?”

The half-serious questions kept coming. Ben just nodded, not looking at them. Eddie could see Ben smiling as he yelled questions that were really just insults with the others. They died down as the smell of food wafted through the room, all realizing that they all had not eaten since that morning.

The food was passed around, Ben and Bill issuing out the proper dishes for each person. Soon, the seven of them were silent, all intently focused on devouring their food.

“I say we have one more game before we call it a day.” Bev said after she finished her food. The others looked at her. It was late and they all felt tired, the day’s excitement taking a lot out of them. 

She hopped off Eddie’s bed and picked Scattergories. Stan groaned, remembering what happened the last time they tried to play the game.

  
  


It was a rainy summer night, causing the Losers to seek shelter in one of their homes instead of flouncing around the Barrens. They all congregated on the floor of Richie’s living room, sitting in a circle, quite similar to how they were sitting as adults.

The game went smoothly for a while, getting through 5 lists without an argument. They were being too well behaved, they all knew it. Excess energy was brimming, needing an outlet, each considering starting a screaming match with someone just to get the energy out.

“You cannot put ‘my dick’ as something that grows. That doesn't make sense.” Eddie was looking at Richie’s answers. His comment caused the rest of the group to look up from their own boards. The timer hadn’t gone off yet, so the rest of the Losers had no idea why Eddie was reading Richie’s answers, or why Richie was letting him.

“Ask your mom, she knows how it grows.” Richie winked. Eddie’s face scrunched, turning red with anger.

“That is so fucking disgusting, dude. I hate you so much.” Eddie’s voice was high and loud. He sat with his arms crossed, glaring at Richie. The others just watched them, part of them not caring enough to stop their argument, another part of them wanted to see where it went.

“That’s a lie, Eddie Spaghetti. You love me.” Richie reached out to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but Eddie moved his face away, slapping Richie’s hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me! And don’t call me that!”

His protest to Richie’s hand encouraged Richie more. Richie moved closer to Eddie, trying to wrap his arms around Eddie. Eddie struggled, slapping and kicking Richie away. His struggle knocked him to the floor, momentarily leaving him vulnerable to Richie’s attack.

Richie managed to get his arms around Eddie, laughing. The whole time Eddie, was screaming at Richie, mostly telling him to fuck off. 

With Richie on top of him, Eddie tried to squirm his way out of the hug. Their fight was going fine, relatively tame compared to some of them. The Losers were laughing at this point, near tears, watching Eddie desperately try to get out of Richie’s arms. But then Eddie’s foot kicked into his and Richie’s folders, causing them to go flying across the floor, paper and lists falling out of them. 

This ruckus sent ripples throughout the room, causing it to erupt into chaos. 

Bev threw her pencil at Bill and tackled Ben to the ground. Bill started to throw the used paper at Mike and Stan, each retaliating by throwing their lists at Bill. Eddie managed to get out of Richie’s arms, but almost immediately threw himself back at Richie, trying to pin him to the ground.

The chaos went on for a few minutes, their laughter and screams running throughout the house. Richie’s parents weren’t distrubed until Richie screamed as Eddie finally pinned him to the ground. His scream seemed to rise above the general din of noise, alerting Richie’s parents. His mom rushed in, momentarily fearful someone was hurt, but the sight of seven laughing kids fighting with each other told her nothing was wrong.

“What is going on here.” She stood in the doorway, hands on hips. Her words stopped the fighting instantaneously, the Losers freezing in their positions. Bev was still atop of Ben, holding him to the ground. Bill and Mike held game folders, aimed to be thrown at Stan, who was standing over the two of them with the dice and the timer in his hands. Eddie was pinning Richie to the ground, basically sitting on him. Richie turned his head to his mom and smiled.

“Oh, you know, just kids being kids.” Richie flashed her a smile.

  
  


“Bev, I really don’t want to destroy this hospital room. You know Eddie and Richie always fight over a stupid answer and end up throwing stuff.” Stan said. Beverly nodded, knowing that Scattergories always ended in disaster.

“We do not!” Eddie and Richie yelled simultaneously.

Eddie could sense the five concurrent eye rolls the others were doing. He crossed his arms and frowned.

“If you don’t uphold a standard in the game, then it would go to chaos.”

“It g-goes to chaos when you ‘uphold the standard.’” Bill said, doing air quotes around the last phrase. 

“Yeesh, Ed, if you just let me have a little fun, then it would be fine.” Richie smirked and kicked Eddie’s leg. Eddie slapped his foot.

“So it’s my fault that when you can’t think of a color starting with G, you make up a color and still want points for it?”

“Guroosh could easily be a color!”

“Is your head so thick you couldn’t even think of the color green?”

“Everyone else was gonna put green! I wanted to get points!”

“You can’t make up a fucking color!”

“So I think I’m gonna head back to the Town House! How about every else?” Ben interjected loudly, breaking into Richie’s and Eddie’s bickering.

“I’ll join you. Need some space from these two idiots.” Bev sent a look over to Richie and Eddie.

They all decided to head back, all but Richie. He stayed sitting, his feet resting on Eddie’s bed, as everyone got up and said their goodbyes. Mike left last, closing the door behind him, leaving Eddie and Richie alone. 

As everyone was leaving, Richie had pulled out his phone again, becoming deeply immersed in whatever he was looking at. Eddie watched him for a moment, taking him in.

He looked better than yesterday. His clothes has some semblance of order, his hair actually brushed, and his eyes didn’t have the hollow, far away quality Eddie saw last night. Richie still had dark circles underneath his eyes which made Eddie worry. They made him look older, sadder, especially as he sat there, his face neutral, lit up by the light of his phone. They made him look sick.

“Are you sleeping okay?” Eddie was startled by the sound of his own voice, not realizing he was going to ask that aloud.

Richie looked up from his phone quickly, his eyes meeting Eddie’s for a moment before looking down again. There was surprise in his eyes, and fear, as if he didn’t want Eddie to know the truth.

“Yeah, of course.” Richie’s eyes were on his phone again, but Eddie knew he wasn’t paying attention to what was on the screen.

“Bullshit, dude.”

Richie kept looking at his phone, scrolling down the screen. Eddie narrowed his eyes, waiting for Richie to say something, but he just kept looking at his phone, ignoring Eddie. Eddie softened, wanting to know what was wrong, wanting to help his friend. It pained him to see Richie unwell; he wanted to fix it, to help him in any way he could, and he always has. 

Even as children, Eddie couldn’t stand seeing Richie hurt. Eddie always tried to tend Richie’s wounds, but he usually only let him when it was just the two of them. Richie didn’t want the other Losers to think him weak, even if he knew they wouldn’t think that. But he let Eddie see him vulnerable, to see him grit his teeth in pain, or even cry.

Those occasions where Richie cried were few and far between, but Eddie remembered all of them. Most of the times it was after a particularly rough beating, when everything hurt so much Richie couldn’t help but cry. He always went to Eddie when that happened, somehow finding him, no matter where he was. Eddie never judged him, knowing he had cried plenty of times after being beaten up, far more than Richie had. Each time Richie came to him, Eddie felt rage deep in his chest, wanting to find the person who hurt Richie, wanting to inflict the same pain they had done to his friend.

There was one time, though, when Eddie saw Richie cry that wasn’t caused by a beating. Eddie had heard rocks hitting his bedroom window and he opened it, seeing Richie outside of it. 

“What are you doing here? Do you want my mom to kill you? It is eleven!” Eddie hissed down to him. He pushed himself away from the window, listening to see if his mom was coming. When he turned around, Richie was climbing through his window.

Eddie opened his mouth to yell at Richie, but the words stopped in their tracks. Richie was crying, tears openingly streaming down his face. When he got both feet on the ground again, he pushed his glasses into his hair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He took a ragged breath.

“Richie?” Eddie stepped closer, his voice small, afraid. “Richie what happened?”

Eddie quickly checked to see if he could spot any injury, but couldn’t find one, not even a grass stain on his jeans. Richie took another breath, this one short and clipped. He took another breath, quickly followed by another one. Eddie raced forward and lead Richie to his bed.

“Woah. Breath. Take a deep breath.” Eddie pushed Richie so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Richie continued breathing rapidly. “Richie, you got to take a deep breath, you’re hyperventilating.”

Eddie could hear Richie trying to get his breathing under control, but it wasn’t working. Each attempt at a deep breath was cut off by a sharp exhale and a shorter breath. Richie’s tears weren’t helping, his body shaking with sobs, cutting into his already erratic breathing.

Eddie could feel his anxiety rising with every sharp breath Richie took. Eddie moved to his dresser, searching for his inhaler. He frantically rummaged through his stuff, knowing it was there somewhere. His hands were shaking, his heart was beating in his ears, but Eddie tried to push it away, not needing his anxiety at that moment. He can’t be having a panic attack when Richie was over on his bed hyperventilating.

Eddie’s hand closed around the inhaler and he raced back to Richie’s side.

“Here,” Eddie tapped Richie’s hands with the inhaler. Richie lowered his hands and looked at what Eddie was giving him. He took it and put it in his mouth and squeezed.

Eddie knew it wasn’t real asthma medication, but a placebo can do its job even if it isn’t actual medicine. Sometimes things need not be real to have power; sometimes all you need is something to hold on to, a stable and solid object to remember how to breathe, something that you believe will work. 

Eddie rubbed Richie’s back in comforting circles he remembered his mom doing once when Eddie hyperventilated. He waited as Richie was able to slow his breathing down.

Richie placed the inhaler on Eddie’s nightstand and fell back onto the bed. He laid on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Eddie turned and pulled his legs up on the bed, crossing them. He could see Richie’s face: the red, puffy eyes, the glare he was sending up at this ceiling, a strange mix of sorrow and anger.

“Rich?” Eddie asked, keeping his voice quiet. His mom was in the living room, and if she heard him talking, she come to his room. He was supposed to be asleep; there was school tomorrow.

Richie closed his eyes and rolled to his side, curling around himself. Eddie sighed and laid down next to him, laying on his side, looking at Richie. He couldn’t see his face anymore, but he suspected Richie was crying again.

“Richie, what happened?”

“It’s nothing. I got worked up for nothing.” Richie’s voice was quiet, breaking as he spoke. The sound of his voice broke Eddie’s heart. It was vulnerable and sad.

“Come on, Rich. You can tell me.” 

Eddie reached out and placed his hand on Richie’s arm. Richie stiffened for a moment. Eddie thought he was going to turn away, but then he relaxed. He sighed.

“It was just something stupid my dad was talking about.”

Silence passed. Eddie waited, keeping his hand on Richie’s arm. He could feel Richie shaking underneath it. Eddie was scared. He had never seen Richie this upset, not even after they fought Pennywise. Richie always had a cool head, making light of any situation. If something broke Richie, it would destroy Eddie, Eddie knew that. 

Eddie always knew Richie was stronger than him, could take more, could stand the world around him. Eddie knew he was weak, fragile, too small for the world, like he didn’t have a place. It didn’t bother him that much, Eddie just accepted it as a simple fact of the universe and moved on. 

But when he was arguing with Richie, fighting with him, taking a stand, he felt himself grow in those moments, like he was finding his place in the world. Eddie couldn’t possibly think of what could have hurt Richie so much he would turn up at Eddie’s house in tears. Nothing seemed to bother Richie, at least not to cause this sort of reaction.

Richie exhaled, curling a little tighter around himself. Eddie kept his eyes on the top of Richie’s head. When he spoke, his voice was choked with fear.

“He was talking about you, and how he didn’t think I should hang out with you, because you might ‘infect me with your lifestyle.’”

Richie let out a laugh that turned into a sigh as it left his lips. Both of them knew what his dad was implying. 

Eddie felt stiff, terror rising through his body. He knew kids thought he was gay. They shouted it at him all the time, insults and names following him everywhere he went. But they were kids; they were easy to ignore, easy to forget about. What they said didn’t matter because adults didn’t listen to them, didn’t back up what they were saying. When kids said he was gay, in a way, it was okay, because it would pass. Just kids being kids.

Adults were different. They weren’t supposed to insult kids, they weren’t supposed to _bully_. What they said mattered; other adults listened to what adults had to say. When adults say something, people believed it; their words were like facts.

Eddie felt sick, but he didn’t move, couldn’t move. He stomach twisted, his heart pounded so loud he was sure Richie could hear it. He wanted to tell Richie to follow his dad’s advice, because he was right. Eddie was going to infect Richie with his lifestyle, he knew it and he hated it, hated himself. Richie should save himself before that happened.

But Eddie couldn’t bring himself to say it. He didn’t want to believe it himself, and he knew if he actually said the words he couldn’t deny it any longer, couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t suppress it. If he never admitted to liking boys, then he would be safe, because being a boy who likes boys is dangerous and dirty and destined to die.

And if he told him, Richie would leave, leaving him alone in his empty room. He needed Richie to be with him, wanted Richie to be with him. He knew it is selfish and horrible, because Richie shouldn’t associate with a gay boy, shouldn’t have to be friends with someone like him. But Eddie couldn’t face a world without Richie, and he hated himself for it. 

Richie uncurled himself, lifting his face to look at Eddie. Eddie tried to make his face neutral, to not give anything away, to not show any hint of his inner turmoil. 

Richie didn’t talk, he just moved closer to Eddie, wrapping an arm around him, pulling them together. He put his forehead on Eddie’s chest. Richie was tense, unsure if this was okay, if Eddie would allow him to be this close, to touch Eddie like that. 

Eddie let his stiffness dissipate. Richie was still there, Richie wasn’t going to leave. Eddie wrapped his own arm around Richie and ducked his face into his hair. Richie relaxed as Eddie returned the affection, holding onto Richie with an equal force of desperation.

The position was awkward, their gangly limbs overlapping, but they stayed like that, eventually falling asleep. They had shared a bed before, of course they had, but never like that, never that close, never falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. 

It was strange and awkward, but Eddie wouldn’t have traded it for anything, and he was pretty sure Richie wouldn’t have either.

  
  


“Your staring at me.” Richie’s said flatly, annoyance creeping into his voice. Eddie blinked, not realizing he had gotten so lost in thought.

“Are you having nightmares?” Eddie asked. 

Something in Richie’s expression shifted and Eddie knew he hit the mark. Richie set down his phone and took his feet off of Eddie’s bed, placing them on the ground. 

“I should go. I’ll let you sleep.” Richie stood up. Eddie could tell he was keeping emotion out of his voice, but he was barely keeping it at bay. Richie turned to leave but Eddie reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Richie,” Eddie tugged on his wrist, trying to get him to stay. Eddie didn’t want to be alone. The moment he mentioned nightmares, the harsh reality set in. He was going to have nightmares, horrific visions of that leper or the clown or that stringer impaling him. Having another person in the room, even just until he fell asleep, would quell some of his nerves. And he knew Richie was feeling the same way. He only was leaving because he wanted to avoid his problems, to run away and not confront them, to just go on living with the nightmares and the trauma without talking about them.

“What is it Eddie? I’m tired. I just want to go back to the Town House and pass out.” 

Richie still wasn’t looking at Eddie, his back a cold wall, stiff and rigid. Eddie could tell Richie was on edge. Hell, _he_ was on edge. But Eddie was never one to let things go, especially not with Richie.

Eddie swallowed his nerves. If he wanted Richie to open up to him, he was going to be vulnerable as well.

“Stay here tonight,” Eddie tugged on Richie’s wrist again, feeling childish. He didn’t know how much longer he could try to get Richie to stay. “Please.”

Richie finally turned around, defeated. 

“I really don’t think another night spent in this hospital chair will do my back any good.”

The comment made Eddie pause. He knew Richie barely left his side while he was in the coma, but Eddie didn’t consider Richie sleeping in the room. It seemed too personal, an intimacy Eddie wasn’t expecting to feel. And Richie acknowledging it made it worse.

“I can share.” Eddie said immediately, scooting to the far edge of his bed. He wasn’t sure how this offer would turn out; he didn’t allow himself to consider all the possible outcomes. He spoke on impulse, what he really wanted.

“How are two grown men supposed to comfortably sleep in a hospital bed?”

“I never said it would be comfortable.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn’t feel annoyed, he was just relieved Richie didn’t turn and run.

“You’re going to regret this because I kick in my sleep. When you wake up after I kick you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Eddie laughed, yet he felt his fear of being alone turn into fear of sharing a bed with Richie. Eddie was well aware of the implications that Richie just staying in the room with him had, but those could be pushed away, rationalized. When Richie slept in a chair beside his bed, it was nothing more than a dedicated friend protecting and watching over someone in a coma. But offering Richie to sleep in his bed couldn’t be explained away, could be set down as two friends worrying about each other. It was intimate, reserved for couples, something that two grown friends just don’t do. 

Eddie was grateful when Richie turned off the light, feeling his face hot. He had offered Richie to share his bed. That was not what friends do, not when they are 40. But Eddie wanted to share his bed with him, desperately longed to have been doing so for the past 27 years. He just hoped Richie wouldn’t sense that longing, or look at the implications his offer had.

Richie sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. They were quiet, the silence between them not comfortable but not tense, it just _was_. Eddie pulled the blanket back, making room for Richie to get under it. 

Richie sighed and took off his glasses, setting them on the bedside table. He finally laid down, settling on his back, body rigid. Eddie rolled his eyes and threw the edge of the blanket at Richie, trying to act normal.

“Get under the covers, asshole.”

“That’s what your-”

“Richie, if you make one joke about fucking my mom, I will find a way to get out of this bed and push you out the window.”

Richie laughed and pulled part of the blanket around him, turning to his side so he was facing Eddie. The tension was less apparent, only showing in the constant drumming of his fingers. Eddie stayed on his back, not wanting to find out how painful it would be if he turned on his side.

Eddie had been in bed with another person before. He spent the last fifteen years sleeping in the same bed as Myra, but lying there with Richie, it felt like something wholly different. Eddie was so used to feeling nothing when he shared a bed, grown accustomed to each keeping their sides, not talking, not touching. Now, Eddie felt something, something he had spent the last twenty seven years chasing, a forgotten feeling he had to come back to Derry to remember, something that only Richie made him feel.

Eddie was too aware of that feeling as the seconds ticked by. He was too aware of everything. The way the blanket felt against his skin; the way the heat radiated off Richie’s body, which was oh so close; the way they maintained a distance between them, each stiff, trying to keep the distance, as if they touched the world would end. 

They laid like that for fifteen minutes, Eddie counting each second in an attempt to fall asleep, even though his eyes remained open. Eddie’s limbs hurt from his rigidness, an aching feeling beginning to spread through them.

“Fuck this man. You’re my best friend.” Richie muttered suddenly, almost to himself. He sighed and moved closer. He tucked himself beside Eddie, resting his head against Eddie’s side. Eddie moved with him, throwing an arm around Richie. They settled into a semi-comfortable position, resting against each other. 

They didn’t speak and Eddie was grateful for that. He could handle sharing the bed, he could even handle cuddling each other, but if they talked about it, assign it a proper name, if they qualified their actions with words, that would be too much. 

Eddie fell asleep at some point, not remembering when he had drifted off. It was another dreamless sleep, just darkness behind his eyes.

Eddie woke up to a body twisting against his side. Eddie blinked his eyes blearily, trying to understand what was happening. He heard a sound close to a whimper and looked to his left. Richie laid beside him, moving, struggling against some unseen force. His face was scrunched in an expression of pain, sweat dousing his forehead.

Eddie moved on autopilot, shaking Richie awake before he even knew what he was doing. He kept at it, desperate for Richie to wake up. He was worried. God, he was _so_ worried. Richie kept moving, trying to get out of Eddie’s grip, but Eddie held on.

“Richie!” Eddie almost shouted, controlling his voice at the last second so it came out at a volume respectable for a hospital.

Richie opened his eyes, gasping for a breath. His eyes frantically shot around the room until stopping on Eddie.

“Eddie?” Richie asked, his voice soft with disbelief. His eyes were wide, staring at Eddie in a look on the edge of horror.

“Richie, are you alright?” 

Eddie squeezed Richie’s shoulders, trying to reassure him he was real, that he wasn’t in his nightmare anymore. The pressure seemed to snap Richie out of the daze he was in. His eyes cleared, the horror gone from them. Eddie could feel him relax, the straining muscles releasing. Richie sagged into the bed, running a hand across his face.

“Sorry.” Richie buried his face in his hands, ducking his head away from Eddie.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Eddie rubbed Richie’s arm. Eddie didn't know what to say. He knew Richie was embarrassed and he wanted to reassure him that he wasn’t judging him. Eddie had a hell of a time with nightmares in his lifetime and Richie knew that.

  
  


The nightmares had been the worst in the weeks following their fight with Pennywise. The Losers Club met every day, making their individual ways to the Barrens, all ending up there by the afternoon, seeking out each other’s company, to find unspoken comfort from their nightmares, a solace in each other’s presence. 

Eddie knew he looked bad, but they all did. The nightmares kept him up, waking him up an hour into sleep if he did manage to fall asleep, filling his dreams with dark terrors of the sewers and of Pennywise. Dark circles framed his eyes, growing darker every day. The other Losers had them as well, but they didn’t talk about them, in a way they couldn’t talk about them. 

It was an early Monday morning. Eddie had come to the Barrens almost as soon as he woke up, wanting to avoid his mom. Things were tense between them, to say the least. Being in the same room with her was unbearable. Her teary eyes, his silence, her passive aggressive comments muttered under her breath. Instead of trying to reconcile his relationship with her, he chose to avoid and ignore. It was working out so far, but Eddie knew it wouldn’t last forever.

The clubhouse was empty when Eddie got there, as he thought it would be. Usually they didn’t begin to find their way to the Barrens until later in the morning, but Eddie was content with being alone for a few hours until the others came. 

Eddie climbed into the clubhouse and made his way to the hammock, picking up the Walkman Bill had left there on his way. He hopped in, spending a moment to get comfortable, placing the headphones on his head and reaching for the comic Richie left yesterday.

Eddie didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. One moment he was in the clubhouse reading, the next he was in the sewers, his friends nowhere to be found. 

Water dripped from the ceiling, hitting Eddie as he waded through the ankle high water. With his good hand he gripped a flashlight, but the light seemed to create more shadows than illuminate the darkness. It was quiet, the air having a stillness to it; a stale, deathlike quality.

“Bill?” His voice echoed around the tunnel, sounding a million times louder than he meant it. Silence greeted him, not even the sound of water could be heard.

Edde kept moving, feeling as if something was behind him, lurking out there in the darkness. He didn’t know where the others were, and his terror grew with each second that passed. 

“Bill? Stan? Richie? Bev? Mike? Ben? Anybody!” Eddie said, growing louder as he said their names. He was terrified, frantic to find someone.

His flashlight flickered and he screamed, piercing the air, the sound ringing in his ears. The water splashed behind him and he whipped around, swinging his light around, trying to see what made the sound. His light bounced around the tunnel, hands shaking.

The splashing grew louder, like footsteps coming towards him. Eddie could make out a figure walking in the darkness, coming towards him. Eddie stood, frozen in place, watching helplessly as the shape came closer. 

Richie staggered into the light. He looked at Eddie, eyes wide, pleading for help. He was bleeding, large, gaping slashes lacerated his chest.

“Richie!” Eddie gasped out. His legs wouldn’t move, like his feet were welded into the ground. Richie dropped to his knees, the water splashing around him. Eddie cried out, reaching towards his friend, unable to help.

“Eddie,” Richie whispered, reaching a hand out to where Eddie stood. “Eddie.”

“ **_Eddie_ **” Richie shouted again, shaking Eddie. Eddie’s eyes flew open, his breathing coming out in sharp breaths.

Richie stood beside the hammock, hands gripping Eddie tightly. He looked frantic, face pressed close to Eddie’s. Eddie threw his arms around his friend, needing to confirm that it was real, that Richie was alive, that he wasn’t dying in the sewers and Eddie couldn’t do anything. Richie hugged him back immediately, tightly squeezing Eddie.

Eddie knew he was crying, could feel his tears soaking into Richie’s shirt, but he didn’t care. His heart still pounded; terror still gripped his mind; the image of Richie on his knees, bleeding, dying, still fresh in Eddie’s mind.

“Are you okay, Eds?” Richie asked once Eddie had stopped crying. They still held each other; Eddie’s head still buried into Richie’s shoulder. There was so much fondness and worry in Richie’s voice Eddie didn’t care he called him that nickname.

“Yeah, I am now.” Eddie pulled away from Richie, wiping his eyes. “Thank you.”

Richie smiled and hopped into the hammock, almost tipping Eddie out of it. 

“Richie, what the fuck are you doing?” Eddie still felt like shit, but easing back into arguing with Richie made everything feel better, like the world was once again right.

“There is a ten minute time rule, remember. And I am positive your ten minutes are up, so it’s my turn.” 

Richie plastered on a shiteating grin and stuck his feet out, laying them half atop of Eddie. He snatched the comic Eddie had been reading and opened it somewhere in the middle. Eddie kicked Richie and settled into the hammock, feeling content. The others would be there shortly, but for now, Eddie was okay. If Richie was with him, Eddie always felt okay.

  
  


“Hey, Rich? Let’s watch something.” Eddie nudged Richie, knocking his elbow against the top of Richie’s head.

Richie moved his head to look up at Richie, confused. He looked small, tired, vulnerable.

“Come on, man. Grab your phone. We both know we won’t be getting any more sleep tonight.”

There was a faint light coming in the windows, hinting that it was some ungodly hour in the morning. Eddie didn’t feel particularly well rested, but he doubted he would any time soon. And he knew Richie wouldn’t go back to sleep, so this was the middle ground: watching some stupid sitcom on Netflix to pass the time and for the nightmare incident to pass.

Richie got what Eddie was suggesting and rolled over to grab his phone and glasses off the bedside table. Richie shifted into a sitting position, helping Eddie do the same. Soon they were sitting with their entire sides pressed against each other. Whether if it was because of the lack of room or their need to be physically close with something real and stable, Eddie didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

Richie had produced a pair of earbuds from his pocket and handed one to Eddie, who gladly took it. Richie loaded Netflix and looked at Eddie.

“What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care, whatever you were watching recently.”

Richie nodded and scrolled down to his recently watched, clicking on the _Schitt’s Creek_ icon, the episode beginning to load.

They settled against each other, heads close, each holding up half of the phone. Eddie felt calm, thanking the universe he wasn’t freaking out being this close to Richie, blessing his mind for letting him live in the moment and for once not over analyzing every action he was making.

_____________

Mike came by at 8:30, finding Richie sitting at the foot of the bed, facing Eddie, playing cards held close to his chest. More cards were laid out on the bed between the two of them, along with some crumbled pieces of paper. More paper laid scattered on the floor. Neither of them looked at Mike when he walked in, both staring intensely at the other instead.

Over the course of the morning, they had watched Netflix until Richie’s phone died. Richie had gone to search through the drawers around the room, trying to see if a charger was somewhere. He had no luck, but his search resulted in him finding a stack of paper. 

The paper had opened up many paths of actions, and they dove head first into them.

After a good 30 minutes of paper airplane contests, they decided to do origami from memory. It went as well as any origami from memory could go, which is to say extremely poorly. Their failed attempts at cranes and ninja stars and frogs lay scattered at their feet, along with many balls of crumpled up paper, which were the product of a short lived, but very intense, paper fight.

After all the paper had been used, they were at a loss for what to do.

“Let’s play goldfish.”

“It’s _go_ -fish, dumbass.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but shrugged nonetheless. “We’re already acting like fourteen year olds having a sleepover, so why not?”

“You played go-fish at your sleepovers when you were fourteen?”

“YOU WERE AT THOSE SLEEPOVERS!”

“Oh shit! You’re right.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, dangerously close to smacking Richie, his injuries the only thing keeping him tame.

For the past hour and a half, they had been playing go fish, the intensity rising with each game. Now, Eddie and Richie were desperately hiding their cards from each other, keeping a straight face, not giving away what cards they had. Eddie was staring down Richie, trying to decide if Richie had a ten or not.

“What happened in here?” Mike said and broke both of their concentrations. They set down their cards, face up, forgetting about the game entirely now that Mike was there.

“Sleepover.” Richie answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh, Mike! Mikey! Do you have a charger on you?”

Richie was off the bed in a second. He grabbed his phone and walked to Mike who settled in a chair beside Eddie, ignoring Richie. He placed a form in Eddie’s hands, along with a pen.

“I’ve been talking with the doctors and they say you can be discharged tomorrow, if you want to be.”

Eddie felt his spirit drop, anxiety overtaking his thoughts. The warm, happy feeling he had felt in his chest had turned into an uncomfortable heat, soaking into him, making the room feel too small.

“Are they sure I’m okay? It has only been a week. That doesn’t seem like a long time for me to heal properly.” Eddie talked quickly.

He trusted the doctors, he really did, but his mother’s voice chirped in the back of his head, reminding him he is fragile, reminding him he was special, weak. 

“I mean, I was stabbed by a fucking alien clown monster! And I’m all better in a week? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t want to accidentally reopen the wound or get an infection or over strain myself.”

Eddie shut his mouth, taking short breaths through his nose. Mike reached out and put a hand over his.

“I think this discharge is a chance for you to just relax at home and heal instead of staying in the hospital. For you to be somewhere more comfortable.”

Eddie closed his eyes tightly and nodded, a little too fast to appear natural.

“My home isn’t here, Mike. That’s the problem. I live in New York, okay, and I can’t go home, not like this. Myra will suffocate me. She wouldn’t leave my side, she would fuss over my every move. I think if I had to live through that, I would kill her, or myself. Whichever one would be easier.”

Eddie kept his eyes closed, finding some comfort in the darkness. 

He hadn’t meant to admit all that, didn’t want to let others know how miserable he was with his marriage. If they found out he was miserable, they might ask why, and Eddie didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to just blame his unhappiness on Myra instead of the fact he didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. If he started lying again, then he might never stop, and that scared Eddie more than he would care to admit, because lying was always easier than telling the truth, especially about this.

“Eddie.” Mike said softly, carefully. “You don’t have to be discharged if you don’t want to. This is just an optional early discharge. I’m sorry I brought this up, I just didn’t know if you would have wanted to.”

Eddie opened his eyes, finding both Mike and Richie staring at him. Richie looked away when he opened his eyes, down instinctively at his dead phone in his hand. Mike just watched him, eyes kind and soft.

“I’m sure you don’t have that much longer until you’re properly discharged.” Mike reassured him, smiling. Eddie gave him a small smile, but he didn’t feel any better. Once he’s discharged he would have to face his life again: Myra and whatever waited for him in New York.

Richie looked back to Eddie, something in his eyes. Eddie didn’t understand what it was, something close to guilt.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I have to go to work today. I know Bill is coming over soon, but I don’t know about the others.” Mike took the form from Eddie, folding it and placing it in a pocket. 

“Going right back into the swing of things, huh?” Eddie asked, trying to make the room not feel so suffocating.

“I already wasn’t in for a week and there’s things to do.” Mike shrugged. “I’ll probably come back tonight.”

Mike left quickly, quietly saying he was already late. Eddie and Richie both watched him go, staring at the doorway a few moments after he was gone.

“So, you’re wife,” Richie said awkwardly. He sat down at the end of the bed, looking at Eddie.

“Rich, if you’re going to make fun of her, I’m not in the mood.” Eddie sighed and threw his head back so he was staring at the ceiling. Eddie couldn’t stand to look at Richie at that moment, especially if Richie was about to make a joke. A joke would be like a punch in the gut.

Throughout his marriage, he knew something was off, but he couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t grasp onto what was wrong. He didn’t feel anything towards Myra, not when they first started dating and not when they were married. There was no attraction, not love, not even a sliver of contentedness. Excpt when she was particularly overbearing, Eddie didn’t feel anything for Myra. 

He knew he should have felt love, but he didn’t know how love should feel. He couldn’t remember feeling love, and when he thought about it, he could only find vague memories, memories covered in a fog. 

When he got that phone call, those memories came back. He went home to pack and he realized he couldn’t stand talking to Myra, her very presence made him want to yell and run away. As he was leaving, in her final attempt to get him to stay, she said that if he loved her, he would stay. Eddie stopped in the doorway, bags in hand. He faced her, feeling a steady calm confidence take over.

“I don’t love you, Myra. I don’t think I can.” Eddie told her. It was the closest he ever came to admitting he was gay. 

For most of his life, that part of himself was half forgotten, lost with all his other memories. So much of his sexuality was linked with Richie and Derry, where he learned what love felt like, the true and deep love that joined souls and minds in an unbreakable bond. But he also learned to hate himself in Derry, to repress and hide and deny that part of himself. 

His few days in Derry hadn’t allowed him to process all of the forgotten memories he regained. His childhood was full of love and friendship, but it was also filled with terrors and hate, not only of Pennywise. Eddie couldn’t move past the fear and hatred that had been ingrained by his childhood. The repression that had lasted his entire life couldn’t be brushed off in a day; it had twisted itself into his heart, restricting and crushing, trapping him under its oppressive power even all these years later.

“I’m sorry. About your wife, I mean.” Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand which was laying on his lap. Richie held it, squeezing it. Eddie looked at him again, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just that you were in this shitty situation for years without a way out.” Richie paused and looked down at their hands. “I wish I could have been there, could have helped.”

Eddie stared at Richie. He wasn’t expecting Richie to be genuine, especially about his marriage. 

It wasn’t abnormal for Richie to be genuine when it counted, particularly concerning Eddie. Eddie knew Richie cared about him, but these moments of sincerity always surprise him. For Richie to acknowledge his concern and dedication, to verbally state his care and affection, was scary, terrifying. By arguing they didn’t have to address their emotions, their desire to be with the other, their want for the other’s attention and company. Insulting each other was safe, a plausible deniability built in to their actions. Eddie could ignore the burning sense of longing that builds in his gut when he is with Richie by yelling and arguing.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Richie’s, moving without thought, going by feeling. Holding his hand was comforting, something Eddie wished he could have done as a kid, dreamed of it. “You’re here now.”

Richie’s eyes didn’t move from their hands. Eddie felt nervous, sick, scared. He didn’t want to think about what Richie thought, how he probably hated it, the simple action crossing the unspoken line that separated the acceptable and not acceptable, neatly defining the categories of what friends do and what they don’t. Friends don’t hold hands like this, friends don’t share a hospital bed together, friends don’t fall in love, and Eddie had broken all those rules, crossed the line, traveled into a territory he forbade himself from ever going into.

“Do you want to call her?”

“No, but I should.”

They fell into silence, each lost in thought. 

Eddie knew he had to call Myra, to calm her down, reassure her he was alright. The last time he looked at his phone, he had twenty missed calls and forty texts. He didn’t want to think about what those numbers were now. 

But Eddie didn’t know what he wanted to say to her. Did he want to tell her he had been unhappy the entire time he was with her? Did he tell her he had married a demented version of his mother and she had made every day a living hell? Did he say he wanted a divorce? Did he admit to her he was in love with his childhood best friend, and has been since he was eleven? 

“Hey guys,” Bill said, appearing in the doorway.

Richie and Eddie pulled their hands away with equal force, both turning their attention to Bill. Bill smiled to them, not noticing them pulling their hands away, or if he did, not showing it.

“I b-brought you food, Eddie.” Bill raised a paper bag and placed it on the table.

“And none for me?” Richie asked, clutching it heart as if Bill shot him.

“Go get some yourself.”

“And leave dear sweet Eds alone and unprotected?”

“That’s not my name.” Eddie said, kicking Richie. “And I don’t need protection.”

“He won’t be alone. I’m h-here.” Bill said, looking at Richie pointedly. Eddie could tell Bill wanted to talk to him, without Richie there. 

Richie seemed to thankfully understand, hopping off of the bed.

“You’re lucky my phone’s dead, or else you’d be stuck with my sorry ass.” Richie said, pointing his phone at Bill as he spoke. Bill and Eddie rolled their eyes.

“Don’t you think you’ve gotten rid of me. I’ll be back.” Richie went and hugged Eddie quickly. 

“The day you stop bothering me is the day hell freezes over.” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. He was smiling, however, making what would be an exhausted reply into a happy comment.

Bill waved a goodbye to Richie as he slipped out the door before he turned to Eddie, handing him the bag of food. Eddie eagerly accepted it. 

He happily ate the hash browns and scrambled eggs Bill had brought him, glad he wasn’t resigned to eating hospital food, which he never grew to like. It reminded him of his mother and his constant trips to the hospital. 

Bill was quiet, sitting nervously beside Eddie. He fidgeted with his hands, twisting his wedding ring and tapping on his leg. Eddie gave Bill a sidelong glance, questioning.

“I think I w-want a divorce.” Bill said suddenly. Eddie coughed, almost choking on his food.

“Bill, I hate to break it to you, but we’re not married.” Eddie said, trying to ease Bill’s nerves. 

“Fuck y-you, I meant with my wife.”

Bill crossed his arms and sank in his chair, looking at the floor. 

Eddie didn’t know how to respond. His mind was a mess, flooded with rapid trains of thought that lead nowhere.

Of course he thought Bill should get a divorce if he wanted one, but the topic of divorce made Eddie uneasy. Less than an hour ago he was considering divorce, something that never before crossed his mind. No matter how overwhelming Myra had been or how unhappy he was, Eddie never considered divorcing her. It didn’t seem like a possibility, but now, it seemed like the only possibility he had that would allow him to keep sane. Yet he wasn’t ready to realistically think about it, to think about him actually going through with it, or what his life would look like after. But with Bill bringing it up, he couldn’t avoid thinking about it any longer.

“Do you still love her?” Eddie asked, serious. He wanted to be there for Bill, to support him no matter what, no matter how uncomfortable the topic made him.

“I did once, b-but not anymore.” Bill shrugged, lifting his gaze off of the floor. “I think we’re just different people. We grew apart.”

“What are you going to do afterwards?” Eddie asked after a moment. If Bill’s life didn’t break when he took control of his happiness, then maybe Eddie’s won’t. If Bill could do it, then there was a shimmering hope that Eddie could as well.

Bill’s eyes widened, as if surprised by the question. 

“Mike is going to Florida and I might join him. I t-think I need a vacation.”

Bill smiled, soft and sweet, one not really meant for Eddie. Eddie smirked, sensing something in that smile.

“So you’re going to ditch your wife to go run around Florida with Mike?”

Bill looked embarrassed, his face turning red.

“I-i-it’s not like t-that.” Bill stammered out, his words getting caught in his throat by nerves. Eddie let out an easy laugh.

“You sure, because your face is really saying otherwise.”

Bill smiled again and ducked his head.

Eddie was happy for Bill, so incredibly happy. Yet part of him hurt, hurt because he still couldn’t accept that part of himself. Bill was going on with his life, content with his emotions, making a new life for himself. He was going to be happy with Mike, out of a relationship that didn’t make him happy. Eddie envied Bill’s strength, his assuredness in his emotions, his acceptance of his feelings. Bill wasn’t denying his attraction to men; Bill wasn’t trying to ignore his attraction he feels towards his friend; Bill was going to live a life with someone he loves instead of being trapped in an unhappy marriage. 

Bill was going to live, while Eddie was going to stay in the hole he had dug himself into, the safe yet horrible hole he had lived in his entire life. He knew was never going to climb out of the hole. No one will pull him out of that hole, and he will continue to dig it deeper until the light from the surface will no longer reach him.

“Does Mike feel the same way?” Eddie asked, curious, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

“I don’t k-know. We never talked about it. He was the one to invite me to Florida, t-though.”

“Well that’s a good sign.” Eddie smiled. “I’m happy for you, Bill.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, relishing in the calming atmosphere, the love sitting between them.

“How are you doing, Eddie.” Bill looked at him soberly. He wanted the genuine answer, and Eddie knew he wouldn’t drop it until he got it.

“I have to call my wife today.” Eddie said flatly. He shrugged and looked at the window, the sheer curtain blocking out most of the warm light filtering through.

“You’re unhappy b-being with her.” It wasn’t a question. Bill stared at him, kindness in his eyes, yet a strong and steady kindness, as if Bill was ready to take responsibility for Eddie’s happiness.

“Yeah, I am.”

Eddie met Bill’s gaze, wishing he could convey what he wanted to say in a single look.

“What are you going to say when you call her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you w-want to say?”

Eddie stared at him, wanting to tell him the truth, the complete truth. How he wanted to tell her to never talk to him again. How he was going to tell her he was leaving her and moving on with his life. How he would tell her, again, that he had never loved her, that he was incapable of loving her, not in any way that mattered. 

But he couldn’t tell Bill the truth. He couldn’t admit to these things, these desires, out loud. He didn’t want to tell Bill how messed up he still was, how his mind wouldn’t allow him to tell Myra these things, how his mind would barely allow him to admit these things to himself. Bill didn’t need to know how broken Eddie was, how beaten and berated and hollow he was.

“Bill,” Eddie said. The word was soft and broken, painful to get out. Eddie didn’t want to talk about this, scared that if he continued he would tell Bill something he didn’t want to reveal.

Bill understood. He got up and hugged Eddie, pulling him close, holding him as tightly as he dared, still cautious of Eddie’s injuries.

Eddie latched his arms around Bill, placing his forehead on his shoulder. It was comforting to be understood in the way Bill understood him. Bill understood he didn’t want to keep talking, couldn’t keep talking. Bill understood how painful it was for Eddie, to recall his life, to reflect on the past twenty seven years. Eddie knew that, in some way, Bill understood the deeper meaning to Eddie’s unhappiness, to his hesitation to talk. 

Bill knew Eddie at a level unlike any other, not even any of the other Losers. Holding Bill, feeling protected and warm in his arms, Eddie could see what his future could be like: a lifetime of this feeling of comfort and safety, of being understood, seen as who he was. A life where he didn’t hide who he was, and didn’t have to live with his unhappiness.

“Ugh, what are you guys doing? Get a room, this is a hospital.” Stan said, breaking Eddie and Bill’s hug. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching them.

“This is my fucking hospital room, Stanley.” Eddie said, throwing his arms up in exhaustion. Stan chuckled and pulled a chair up.

“How a-are you, Stan?” Bill asked.

“I’m doing fine. I talked with Patty this morning to tell her I’ll be home in a few days.”

Bill and Eddie nodded. The Loser Club was going to disband once again. They had to get on with their lives, unable to hide in Derry for too much longer. 

This time it would be different, Eddie could feel it. As they each go off into the world, their memories wouldn’t disappear, not like last time. Their connection is stronger somehow, definite, unbreakable. Eddie didn’t understand how he could know this, but he did. He wasn’t scared about forgetting again. He had forgotten once, but not again, never again.

“I think Bev and Ben are coming soon. When I left the Town House, they were getting ready.”

“Is Richie coming back?” Eddie asked. Eddie assumed Richie would come back with Stan, but he wasn’t with him.

Eddie didn’t want to admit it, but he missed Richie. He had only been gone for an hour at most, but his absence left a gaping hole Eddie didn’t even realize he was filling. With the other Losers being here, Eddie didn’t feel alone, just as if he was missing something. The feeling was reminiscent to his lost memories, a hole he didn’t fully realize was there until it was pushed into his face. Eddie didn’t know about his lost memories until Mike called and they came back, and he didn’t realize that there was a hole Richie was filling, that his presence offered him something more than simple company.

It should have been obvious to Eddie, that he would miss Richie when he wasn’t with him. Eddie had been in love with the man for close to thirty years and he finally got him back in his life. Truthfully, Eddie wished he and Richie could never be apart again. But that thought ate away at him. It was selfish, because why would Richie wanted to spend all his time with Eddie? Yes he waited beside him when Eddie was in a coma, but he was just worried about Eddie. Worrying if Eddie would wake up or not didn’t mean Richie wanted to spend the rest of his life with Eddie. For Eddie to assume that would be ignorant, pathetic 

Eddie was well aware his attraction and desire could only be one sided. Richie didn’t like men. And even if he did like men, why would he like Eddie. Richie was a successful comedian who could have anyone he wanted. Eddie didn’t kid himself, knowing he wasn’t in the same league as the people Richie could get. He was short and anxious and interacted with Richie mostly by yelling. Just because Richie was Eddie’s first and only choice, in what possible world would Eddie be Richie’s?

But it didn’t stop Eddie from feeling this way. He knew it was foolish, but he let himself feel it, because feeling something was better than the nothing he felt for twenty seven years.

“I don’t know where Richie was when I left. I saw him stop in to grab his charger, but he left shortly after that.” Stan checked his watch. “That was about half an hour ago.”

“Why do you want to see h-him so badly? Are we not good enough for you?” Bill asked, jokingly, but panic spiked in Eddie.

“I just need to kick his ass in the game of go-fish we were playing when Mike stopped by earlier.” Eddie replied, hoping he didn’t look too panicked. He didn’t want to seem like he wanted Richie’s company, or that he missed him. It would cause too many questions, or worse, too many knowing stares.

“What should we do tonight? Please don’t say more board games.” Stan relaxed in his chair, crossing his legs. He looked to Bill. So did Eddie.

“I t-think we should discuss our p-plans for when we leave, and when we’re leaving.”

Stan and Eddie nodded. It wasn’t a conversation they were particularly looking forward to. They all knew they had to get on with their lives, but none of them wanted to leave the others. Being all together felt good, like their souls were alive and healing. It was an alluring feeling, one they didn't want to break. But the lives they built in the last twenty seven years waited for them and they couldn’t ignore it forever. Once they crossed the boundary of Derry, they would have to face the rest of the world head on and alone, without the strength of the other six. 

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence. Eddie looked out the window, watching the clouds move across the sky. They were a bright white against the blue of the sky, speeding past in the wind. Eddie stared, mesmerized. It was a peaceful sight, to watch the world move past you while time seemed to stand still. Eddie didn’t feel the passing days press around him with any sort of reality, like he was out of the constraints of time, the oppression of reality. In this hospital room, the world was made up of him and the other Losers. Nothing else mattered beside them.

“Look who we picked up on our way over here.” Bev announced as she entered the room, her arm around Richie’s shoulders. Her voice made Eddie jump, being so focused on the clouds. “He was roaming the streets like a lost dog. I was just going to leave him there and let him suffer, but Ben insisted on picking him up.”

Richie turned to her, mouth agape. “You bitch! I was lost!”

“And you’re lucky Ben was with me, or you’d still be lost, Trashmouth.”

Bev squeezed his shoulder and let go, sitting on the armrest of Stan’s chair. Stan looked to her and smiled, before turning back to his phone, resuming the text he was typing, ignoring Richie’s complaining.

Richie pouted and sat down on Eddie’s bed, crossing his arms. He glared at Bev.

Stan glanced up at Richie, seeing him pouting. 

“Beverly, I wished you left him on the street.” Stan told her.

“I could have died out on the street! It would get cold at night!”

“It’s summer, bitch.” Bev said and laughed as Richie threw his phone at her. It hit her in the arm and clattered loudly to the floor. The five of them stared at it before Bill picked it up and handed it back to Richie.

“I don’t think that’s y-your phone, Richie.”

Richie looked down at the phone, stared at it for five seconds before taking another phone out of his pocket and holding it besides the other phone.

“Was that my fucking phone you asshole?” Eddie shouted, leaning as forward as he could without his stomach hurting, trying to grab his phone. Richie recoiled, keeping the phone out of reach. “What are you doing? Give me my phone!”

Bev was laughing, almost falling off the armrest. She leaned against Stan, her face scrunched in laughter. Stan was laughing, but wasn’t as animated. He leaned into Beverly’s grip, laughing easily at Richie. Bill was the only one concerned, looking as if he was ready to rip Richie and Eddie apart.

After a few more attempts by Eddie to grab his phone, Richie succumbed and tossed Eddie’s phone at him. Eddie fumbled for it when Richie tossed it, trying to catch it, but ultimately making it fall into his lap.

Eddie turned to Bev. “You know what, I agree with Stan. You should have left Richie in the street.”

“Not you too!” Richie cried. “I thought you would be different.”

“You just threw my phone on the ground. Of course I’d rather have you be roaming the streets, lost. And why do you even have my phone!”

Richie stumbled over his words for a moment, startled by the question.

“I thought you would want it.” Richie said, landing on an answer. 

Eddie stared at Richie, unable to respond. On one hand, he was mad at Richie for throwing his phone, yet he was touched. Eddie didn’t even ask for his phone when Richie left. Richie had got it on his own volition. Just to know Richie thought of him made Eddie happy, his heart clenching. 

“Are you guys okay? I heard yelling as I was walking here?” Ben asked, walking in. 

“It’s just Richie and Eddie as usual.” Stan said. Bev was gaining control of herself again, her laughter stopping. She nodded in agreement with Stan.

Ben settled into a chair besides Stan. Bev put a hand on Ben’s shoulder but remained sitting on the arm of Stan’s chair.

“Why did you have to pick up Richie, Ben?.” Eddie asked, sighing. 

“I didn’t want Richie to get any more loss than he already was. He wouldn’t last in the wilderness.”

“Fuck you! I would last so long in the wilderness.” Richie said, gesturing wildly with his arms. 

“Don’t lie, Richie. You wouldn’t last a day.” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.

“But I could last all day with your mom.”

Eddie furrowed his brows, glaring at Richie. “That’s not even funny, Richie! I don’t know how you got to be a famous comedian when all your jokes suck.”

“Well I didn’t get famous on my own material, so suck on that, bitch.”

Richie and Eddie glared at each other, looking close to killing the other. Bev was laughing, leaning against Stan.

With all the anger Eddie exhibited, he wasn’t all that mad. Yeah, the fucking your mom jokes were old, but they were a staple of their friendship. Eddie was used to them, his angry reaction an impulse ingrained within him, coming back so easily as he regained his memories. It felt like childhood, arguing with Richie as their friends either laughed or looked on with annoyance. 

  
  


The rest of the afternoon was relatively calm. They all turned to their phones, letting an easy silence fall, broken occasionally by someone sharing something they had seen. Eddie ignored the missed calls and texts he had, swiping the notification away, putting it out of his mind. He wasn’t going to worry about Myra until later, he told himself.

When Mike came, they put down their phones, welcoming him loudly. Once he was settled in their circle, completing it, they turned to Bill, all knowing he had something to talk about.

“We’re going to h-have to leave soon, go back to the world.”

The group nodded, staying quiet, letting the words settle.

“I’m leaving in two days.” Stan said, jumping right in. 

“What, do you miss your wife?” Richie asked with a laugh.

“Yes, Richie I do.” Stan said, staring at Richie, causing Eddie to laugh. Richie hit his leg as he laughed.

“Ben and I are leaving soon, too.” Bev said, glancing at Ben as she spoke. She smiled to him. “We were talking and we’re going to go to his boat and take a little vacation.”

Ben smiled and ducked his head, blushing. Bev leaned over to him and kissed the top of his head. Eddie smiled, so happy they were happy. Bev deserved happiness, after all the terrors she had to experience in her life, especially with men.

“What about you, Mike? Finally going to make it to Florida?” Bev asked Mike, smiling brightly to him.

“Actually, yes. I’m finishing up at the library and then I’m leaving.” Mike smiled, warm and calm. “Bill might join me there after he stops by his home.”

Eddie smiled knowingly to Bill. Bill nodded in agreement to Mike’s statement, calmly smiling.

“What about you, Richie?” Mike asked. Richie shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m thinking of sticking around until Eds here is released so he doesn’t get lonely.” Richie patted Eddie’s knee and smiled at him.

Eddie was dumbfounded. In all the scenarios he ran in his head of what would happen when everyone started going their separate ways, not one had Richie staying with him. He thought he would go back to L.A. to fix his career, back to his successful life where he was happy. There was no reason for Richie to stay. Eddie wasn’t on the edge of life; he was recovering exceptionally well, not a doubt in the doctor’s mind he wouldn’t make a full recovery.

A beat passed as Eddie stared, mouth opening slightly, unsure of what he would say. But he didn’t have to worry about a response because Bill started talking, saving Eddie.

“I’m going to get a d-divorce.” 

The attention turned to Bill, allowing Eddie to take a breath and gather his thoughts.

“I’m sorry?” Ben said, unsure if it was a good thing. Bill smiled, reassuring everyone it was the right choice.

“Don’t b-be. I have better things to do with my life than staying married.” Bill shrugged. “I think we b-both knew it wasn’t working out.”

“I’m going to get one too.” Bev said. She stared at the floor, holding Ben’s hand. “I’m done living my life around shitty men.”

The six of them smiled to her, for her. They loved Bev so much, wishing they could have saved her from going through life with men abusing her. If it took fighting an evil demon clown twice for her to finally find a man who would love her correctly and with as much love as she deserved, then it would be worth it. Eddie would have fought Pennywise ten times over, they all would.

“How about you, Eddie? What are you going to do when you get discharged?” Stan asked.

Eddie didn’t know what to say. In truth, he hadn’t given it serious thought. He only thought about the what ifs, the daydream scenarios. He thought about how he just wanted to go with Richie somewhere and live out the rest of their lives together in peace. But he couldn’t say that, so he went with the realistic option, the option which would probably happen.

“I guess go back to New York to my wife and my job.”

Eddie tried to keep emotion out of his voice, but he knew it didn’t work. There was some sadness and regret he couldn’t shake, that he wished desperately he could shake. If he could just forget the sadness of his situation, then he could go on living like he had for twenty seven years. He wouldn’t be happy, but happiness was something he lived without for so long, he thought he could probably live without it a little longer. 

If he didn’t think about the what ifs, about the life he would have if he had a little more confidence, was a little stronger. If he lived in ignorant bliss, then Eddie wouldn’t have to resign to live with regret, with the idea of a life that he could of had. If he just accepted his life, knowing he couldn’t change it, then nothing would be wrong, and he could go back to New York without feeling like he was missing out on something.

But Eddie couldn’t, and there was no way this aching feeling in his chest would go away. A feeling reminding him he was unhappy, that he was hiding, still after all these years, after all he had been through. He was still hiding something from the people whose love would never waver, even if he did something awful.

But at times it felt like he had done something awful, and he knew that if he confessed, if he told them about his horrible crime, they would say it didn’t change anything, but it would. The way they would look at him would change. They would judge and condemn, all while saying it was fine, saying that everything was okay.

Eddie thought that what he was feeling was like a crime, or a disease he couldn’t cure, like cancer or leprosy or some rare and unknown disease that was a death sentence to all those who contracted it. He wanted to rip it out of him, removing the diseased parts, so he was whole and clean and healthy again. 

He knew he was sick, his mother had assured him of that, and that he was going to die because of this disease. It would take the life out of him, but only if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. If he didn’t talk about it, if he didn’t act on his urges or tell anyone about the sickness raging inside him, then he would be safe. 

But he felt it all the time, more so now than ever. It was a constant reminder, an aching feeling in his chest, a hollow pit in his stomach, and he didn’t know how long he could take it. It felt as if he was dying, that this disease was finally ripping through him, regardless that he had followed it’s rules and hadn’t spoken.

At some moments, when he stared at Richie or thought of his life after Derry or just felt _happy_ , he would almost say something, the words bubbling up, getting stuck on the edge of his tongue. In those moments he felt that he would drown if he didn’t get it out, if he didn’t tell _somebody_. But then the moment would pass, his heart would stop pounding and the room would stop spinning, and he would be safe in his silence once again.

He felt like that now, like he would lose his mind if he didn’t say something, didn’t stop the hurting in his chest, the aching loneliness he felt when considering his future or even his past. He knew he could trust his friends, knew they had unconditional love for him, knew that they wouldn’t abandon him. He just needed to push through his mind, to break free from the anxiety keeping his mouth shut. If he was drowning, they would pull him up. If he was sick, they would cure him. If he was lost, they would find him.

And if he didn’t do it now, in the comfort of their company, with everyone together, he feared he would never do it, that he would live with it his entire life, not mentioning it another living soul. He couldn’t push his feelings away, and oh had he tried, so he had to accept them, or his life would be unbearable.

The others had continued talking as Eddie became lost in thought, moving on to other subjects at hand. He didn’t notice they were waiting for him to respond until Richie said his name. Eddie blinked, seeing that they were all staring at him.

“I’m gay.” Eddie said before he could think about it, before his anxiety took over or the feeling would pass. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, to put on a show that this wasn’t the most terrifying thing he had ever done. He looked at his friends, avoiding Richie, unable to bring himself to see how he was reacting.

A moment passed, a long and insufferable moments that lasted forever. No one moved, not even an intake of breath. But then it passed, the air rushing back into the room as Bev’s face broke out into a smile.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetie.” Bev said, getting up and wrapping Eddie into a hug. “I love you.” Her words her soft, quiet, meant only for Eddie.

She held him tightly, the side of her face pressed warmly against his own. Eddie had his arms around her too, feeling raw. Soon another pair of arms surrounded them, and then another, the hug growing until they were all apart of it. 

They stayed in that hug for a long time, just letting themselves get lost in the love. Eddie closed his eyes, feeling the comforting weight of six people hugging him. He was oddly calm. The fact that the world didn’t end, or he wasn’t dying an agonizing death after he said those words seemed odd. Eddie didn’t know how to react, always expecting that if he came out, the worst would happen. He didn’t expect to feel this love, this care, this unwavering devotion. He didn’t expect to still have a family to comfort him, to love him, to be there for him.

The hug broke apart after a while and they fell back into meaningless conversations. Eddie stayed quiet for most of it, feeling emotionally raw, still in a daze. He sat there, listening to his friends bicker over who had the best hair (Stan) or who would be able to do a backflip (Bev) or who had seen the most romcoms (Richie and Bill were tied).

It was well past 9 pm when they felt it was time to leave. The hospital staff had told them visiting hours were over an hour ago, and they were slowly growing to realize how much of a nuance they were to the general peace of the hospital.

“Richie, are you coming now?” Mike asked as they were about to leave, Bill already halfway out the door. 

“I’m gonna hang here for a bit, if that’s alright with Eds.” Richie smile was met with an eye roll from Eddie.

“It was okay, but then you fucking called me that so you can get the fuck out.”

Richie gasped in shock, dramatically clutching his chest, as if shot. Mike just sighed and let them be, knowing Richie wasn’t leaving. He followed Stan out the door, shutting it behind him.

Once they were alone, Richie climbed across the bed and wormed his way next to Eddie. Eddie glared at him, but allowed him to nestled himself right beside Eddie. Richie smiled.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“I thought you would want to spend time with me!”

“I do, Rich, but why are you sitting like this?”

A look of hurt passed across Richie’s face, but Eddie didn’t notice it, too caught up in his own thoughts to see it.

He didn’t think Richie would still be this touchy with him, or want to be this close, not after he came out. Eddie was expecting Richie to act weird or distant, not to act like nothing has changed, especially when Eddie felt like everything had. 

Richie settled in and pulled out his phone, immediately getting engrossed with whatever he was looking at on the screen. Eddie glanced at the phone screen, watching Richie scroll through Twitter. Eddie tried to read the tweet Richie was scrolling past, interested. He couldn’t read most of them, but the ones he did read were from other comedians, people Richie knew in his adult life.

Richie looked up suddenly, unprompted by anything on his screen. His head almost hit Eddie’s as it shot up, but Eddie pulled back quick enough. Richie turned to him.

“So are you going to call you wife now? Tell her you’re gay? I assume she doesn’t know.”

Eddie stopped himself from replying with a quick “what the fuck”, wanting to be truthful tonight. He had done enough lying to his friends, and he wanted it to stop, no matter how emotionally vulnerable it would make him.

“I don’t know, Rich, okay. I don’t have any fucking clue what I’m going to say to her.”

Eddie twisted in his position, suddenly uncomfortable. Myra hadn’t crossed his mind in hours, but now it was gnawing at him. The reality that he was going to hear her voice again, a reminder of the years he had spent with her, made him feel sick. He could feel Richie watching him. Eddie let out a sigh and threw his head back.

“Fuck!” Eddie said, slightly too loud. Eddie winced at his own voice.

“Hey, I’m sorry I said that. You don’t need to tell her anything you don’t want to.”

Richie placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder but he shrugged it off. He moved his head so he was looking at Richie. Eddie felt awful, the good feeling that had seeped into his mind was gone, replaced by shame and anger. He felt himself breaking and let himself, unable to hold it back.

“I mean, I lived my entire life without saying anything, keeping everything bottled up so tightly. I never told anyone I was gay, not even myself really, and then I married a women who I didn’t love then and I definitely don’t now. And now when I actually want to live my life and be happy, I have to dismantle everything I built in the past twenty years. But I don’t know how. I live in constant fear of what others will think of me, or that everyone will leave me and I am trying to push past that, to finally live how I want to live but I still feel horrible about myself. I may have said I was gay, and finally accepted myself, but I don’t feel _good_. Saying those words aloud doesn’t wipe away all the shame and guilt I felt. I feel sick, like who I am is a disease, that I am dirty. And I know that’s not true, logically I do, but I can’t shake it. It became so ingrain into my head, by my mother and by Bowers and by every other fucking person who called me gay. I thought, maybe, that it would go away when I came out, that I would heal, but it turns out it doesn’t work like that, because I still feel like I’m broken and it is so shitty because part of me wants to just go back to Myra and just keep repressing my emotions so I don’t have to face the world as myself.”

He was crying, tears falling down his face, breaths turning into ugly sobs. Richie hadn’t moved the entire time Eddie spoke, watching Eddie with wide eyes, but as Eddie stopped, he pulled him into a hug with a furious energy, pressing them together in an embrace. Richie buried his face into Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing him so tightly it hurt. Eddie wrapped his arms around him, hugging back with an equal intensity. He needed that comfort, to hold something stable, something that Eddie knew was going to stay with him no matter what.

Richie pulled back once Eddie had stopped crying, keeping his face mere inches from Eddie's. His mouth was slightly opened, his eyes wandering over Eddie's face. For one terrifying, exhilarating moment, Eddie thought he was going to kiss him. But then Richie pulled back a little more, enough so he could reach up and wipe a few tears off Eddie's cheek, the touch tender, the points of contact cool against Eddie's hot face.

Eddie took a breath. It sounded unnaturally loud, an abrupt reminder that he was real and needed to breath. He felt empty, emotionally worn out, but he did not feel ashamed. Yes, he told Richie so much more than he ever wanted to, but to say all that was a release. It was cathartic. For once, in the almost forty years he has been alive, Eddie wasn’t facing his problems alone. Someone else knew how he struggled, on a deeply personal level, and part of Eddie knew it was going to be Richie all along, the one to stick with him, to know his mind, his soul, his demons. 

It was always Richie, ever since he first felt his chest tighten as he caught sight Richie smiling one summer afternoon. 

It was a perfect day. The skies were clear, the sun beat down around him, and not a care in the world for eleven year old Eddie. In that moment, as he was surrounded by his friends, by Bill and Stan and Richie, before he had even met the others, the world was perfect, unstained, untroubled. 

Bill had said a joke and they were laughing, gut wrenchingly, as if it was the funniest thing they ever heard. Eddie turned to look at Richie and what he saw was burned into his mind, and not even forgetting his childhood could tear this memory completely away. It lingered in his mind over the past years, a hazy image of a young boy smiling, yet the image held a feeling of community and friendship and longing.

The sun was shining directly on Richie’s face, reflecting off his glasses, lighting up his dark hair. His mouth was open wide, tears of joy formed at the corners of his eyes. Eddie thought he was beautiful, the most beautiful sight he had ever laid his eyes on. His chest constricted, his heart clenching, his stomach felt fuzzy. It was sudden and all encompassing, consuming all of Eddie’s mind. 

In that moment, Eddie knew that he was completely, irrevocably in love with Richie and always will be. Not in the way friends loved each other, or even brothers, but with a love that came from the deepest parts of his soul, an aching feeling of love, warming Eddie’s blood, filling his heart and mind.

In that moment, all anxiety went out of his mind. He didn’t worry about how this love would affect his life, how this love would change him. He momentarily forgot that boys can’t love other boys, and if they did, they would die. He forgot that he was supposed to fall in love with a girl and marry her and give his mother grandkids. He forgot all about the hatred and the fear the world was built on. In that moment, only the love mattered, the pure and bright love, the love that would last until the end of time. 

That simple moment changed Eddie’s life, for better and worse. He didn’t think Richie would ever know the true extent of how he had affected him. Eddie didn’t think Richie would ever know, could ever know, the amount of love Eddie has felt for him, not just the common love he had for all the Losers, but this deep love that had been burning for decades.

“Hey Eddie? Eds?” Richie said, quietly. He looked away from Eddie. “I think you should call your wife.”

“Richie, I—”

“I’ll talk to her!” Richie interrupted. His head rose, eyes steady.

“Richie, you can’t do that. That’s pathetic, having my friend call my wife to basically tell her I’m done with her.”  
  


Richie grabbed Eddie’s hands, holding them tightly in his own. He moved fast and abruptly.

“I don’t fucking care if it’s pathetic! We’re losers, we’re already pathetic.”

Richie smiled. Eddie looked at him, serious, solemn. He didn’t want Richie to do this. Eddie felt so stupid, so weak not being able to talk to his own wife. But he was scared that he couldn’t stand up for himself, scared he would run back to the familiar, back to the abuse and sorrow. Richie’s smile dropped and he stared at Eddie, squeezing his hands.

“Eddie, I would do anything for you, okay? This is nothing. I would tell your wife to fuck off a thousand times over if I needed to. I want to help you. I just want you to be happy.”

Eddie didn’t respond, momentarily dumbfounded at the affection in Richie’s voice, his confidence and care. Eddie took a deep breath, resolving himself to what would come next.

“Okay.” Eddie said.

He felt sick. It was all too much. Eddie wanted to curl up and disappear so he never would have to face the world, or his wife, or what Richie would say upon talking with his wife. 

Eddie closed his eyes, feeling Richie release his hands and get off the bed. Eddie covered his face with his hands, calmly freaking out. 

Why did he agree to this? What would Richie even say to Myra? What would Myra say to Richie? Eddie wished he had the backbone to take the phone call himself, but he was scared and emotional and felt as if he would break down completely if he had to deal with Myra. But he couldn’t put it off anymore, and Richie was right there, offering his help, his protection, his devotion.

“What’s your password?” Richie sat on the bed again, holding Eddie’s phone.

“It’s four sevens.”

A second passed as Richie typed in the password, humming in acknowledgment when it worked.

“Do you want me to, uh, to go, uh, out of the room?”

Eddie shook his head. He didn’t want to be left alone, but he also wanted to have at least some idea of how the conversation would go. Eddie took his hands away from his face, wiping them nervously on his sheets. He looked at Richie, who was smiling at something on his phone.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Aww, you have a picture of the Losers as your background.”

Richie held up Eddie’s phone. It was on his home screen. A picture of a photo booth photo strip was his background, zoomed in on two pictures of the seven of them, young and happy, smiling at the camera.

“Shut up, dude. I know for a fact your background is that awkward picture of the seven of us before a school dance.”

Eddie actually liked the picture Richie used. They were going to the 8th grade dance, each dressed in a suit. Bev had come back to Derry earlier that day with her aunt to pick up some mail that was sent there. By coincidence, the boys had ran into her and immediately invited her to join them at the dance, acting like they hadn’t just gone months without talking. She didn’t have a dress with her, so she just borrowed a dress shirt from Stan and a pair of pants from Bill. 

The picture was grainy and had faded over time, but that didn’t matter. The seven of them were clustered together, practically hanging off each other. Richie’s arm was wrapped around Eddie’s shoulder, holding him snugly against him.

Eddie smiled whenever he saw a glance of Richie’s home screen. He was pretty sure the rest of the Losers had pictures of them as their home screens. To open your phone and see the smiling faces of the friends you never want to forget again was a welcoming sight, one Eddie didn’t think he would tire of seeing.

“Okay, I’m going to call her.” Richie said, tapping at the phone screen. He paused his tapping and looked up at Eddie, nervously. “You sure?”

“No, but do it anyway.”

Richie gave a curt nod and tapped once more and put the phone to his ear. 

Eddie held his breath, waiting. He could hear the phone ring quietly, muffled by Richie’s cheek. The line clicked and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. Everything seems to stop, as if the world was paused, the calm before the storm. And then it rushed back as Myra’s voice filled the phone’s tiny speaker, loud, panicked, yelling Eddie’s name. Richie flinched, holding the phone away from his ear until the sounds of Myra’s shouts faded.

“Uh, hi, this is Richie. Richie Tozier. I’m Eddie’s friend.” Richie said, placing the phone against his face again. He glanced to Eddie and gave him a thumbs up and a small smile. Eddie wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too nervous.

“No, he’s alright. Actually, he’s doing— Oh. No nothing like that.” Richie said into the phone, replying to whatever Myra was talking about. Eddie couldn’t hear her anymore, just Richie’s hesitant replies. He gripped his sheets, twisting his hands in them.

“I’m his friend— Yes, _just_ his friend—”

Richie was silent for what felt like hours. Eddie could hear the constant murmur of Myra’s voice. Richie’s face went through a cycle of emotions, from boredom to annoyance to anger.

“What the fuck is your problem!” Richie snapped at the phone, voice rising. “He is a grown man, not a goddamn baby. He doesn’t need to be fucking coddled by you. He can take care of himself. He’s the strongest person I know, so I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it is not my Eddie.”

Eddie stared at Richie, suddenly wishing he had Richie leave the room. He couldn’t handle Richie sticking up for him, it was too much. What was he doing? Who would possibly think having the man you have been in love with for decades call your wife after not contacting her for more than a week is a good idea? He desperately wanted Richie to hang up, but Richie had kept on talking, now off the bed, pacing the room.

“You will never know him, not like his friends do, not like I do— Yes I know him! He is my best friend— No, you just think you know him, just like his mother used to. You just want Eddie to fit into the box you picture him in, and if he wants to go outside of that box, you don’t let him. You disguise your abuse as care and worry and make him feel like shit if he defies you! But he doesn’t fit in that box and never will because he isn’t yours. You don’t own him and he is leaving you— Yes, I mean _leaving_ leaving, as in divorce, with a capital D— I’m not fucking stealing him away— Jesus Christ!”

Richie was right beside Eddie’s bed, his back turned. He shook, from either energy or anger. Eddie reached out and grabbed Richie’s wrist, making him turn around.

“Hang up.” Eddie said calmly. Richie didn’t look at the phone as he took it away from his ear, Myra still rambling away, and stopped the call.

Richie sagged into Eddie’s bed, flopping on his back. Eddie was still holding onto his wrist, and as Richie laid down, and Eddie’s arm became wrapped around him, holding the wrist on the far side of his body. Richie let out a heavy sigh and turned on his side, curling up against Eddie.

“Fuck dude. You had to live with her? And not kill her?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Eddie mumbled. 

It wasn’t a lie, per say. Most of the time, Eddie could ignore his loneliness and sadness. They didn’t weigh him down; they were just a haze that covered his life, something he had gotten used to. Myra’s emotional abuse had taken its toll on him, but he already felt broken by his mother. It was bad, but it was what he knew. It was easier to live in what he knew than reinvent his world. Being mothered and coddled was something so innate to his experience of life, living with Myra didn’t seem like a bad thing. It just seemed like _life_ , what he always knew, what he was used to. He didn’t have his memories of what life could be, what freedom and friendships and happiness was like.

Eddie looked down at Richie. He was close, pressing against Eddie’s side. Eddie arm was wrapped over him in a half hug, still holding onto Richie’s wrist. It was strange, to have Richie this close. They use to be this close, physically, as children, but everything was different when you’re children. Now, as Richie’s head butted against his side, feeling the rise and fall of his body under his arm, Eddie didn’t know what it meant. Why was Richie doing this, being so close, when he could sit in a chair, or on the side of his bed? But Eddie took comfort in Richie’s closeness, a selfish comfort that hurt his chest, a comfort that left Eddie longing for something more. A wish that this was normal for them, that they could comfortably lie on a bed together, pressed against the other for no other reason other than they wanted to.

“What did she say?” Eddie asked after a while.

“Do you really want to know?”

_No._ “Yes.”

Richie didn’t respond for a few minutes, his uneven breaths the only thing alerting Eddie that he hadn’t fallen asleep. Eddie could see Richie’s eyes were closed, his face scrunched together in a way Eddie would have found cute if he wasn’t waiting anxiously for Richie to say something.

Then, finally, Richie shifted his position and took a breath.

“She’s angry you hadn’t called and then asked where you were because I was the one on the phone. Then, I don’t know, man. She insinuated _I_ was forcing you to leave her. Then she went on about how fragile you are and how you couldn’t survive in a world where she wasn’t looking out for you. Which is bullshit, by the way.” 

Richie rolled onto his back, eyes open, flicking from Eddie’s face to the ceiling.

“You fought a fucking alien clown demon, got _stabbed_ by It, and stayed alive all without Myra’s fucking help. You are strong as shit and she can’t see that. Then I told her you were leaving her, and she did not like that. She called me some very choice words that if I hadn’t grown up with Bowers yelling them at me, I would be offended. When you told me to hang up she was still yelling shit about how I was brainwashing you and demanding to speak with you.”

Richie fell silent. He was angry, shaking with said anger, fists closing around the blankets, holding them tight. 

Eddie felt his own anger, subtler, quieter. An anger that had slowly built throughout the years he had known Myra, an anger he had lived with for years. Now, that anger had a direction and a cause. Eddie was furious with Myra and how she had treated Richie. 

He knew exactly what she had said to Richie, what she had called Richie, the slurs echoing in his ears, words that he had heard Myra use but never called her out, words that hurt, like a broken bone or a punch in the gut. Words he had grown up hearing, heard Bowers and countless other bullies hurl at him. Hearing them come from the mouth of the women he had married hurt more than he could describe. It was a reminder for how wicked the world was, a reminder that had driven Eddie back, farther and farther, in the closet, nailing the doors shut and leaving him alone in the hopeless darkness.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have had to listen to that.” Eddie said. Richie looked at him. “But thank you for talking to her. I means a lot that you did this.”

“Do you want to use my lawyer? For the divorce? I heard he’s pretty good at divorces, and I’ll pay for him, don’t worry.”

“Richie, I am perfectly capable of getting my own lawyer, okay? You don’t need to do that.”

“But what if I want to do it? I mean, I have a shit ton of money, so why not use it on something important.”

They stared at each other, trying to get the other to back down. Then, Richie winked and patted Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ll call him tomorrow morning.” 

Before Eddie could protest, Richie rolled to his side, his back now to Eddie.

“I’m tired as shit, so I’m going to sleep. If you want to argue, Eds, do it in the morning.”

“That’s not my name.” Eddie grumbled but dropped the argument. 

The problem wasn’t that using Richie’s lawyer would hurt Eddie’s pride. The problem was that it didn’t feel like something friends would do. For Richie to just recommend his lawyer was one thing, to insist on paying for him was another. That fit squarely in the “Stuff Friend’s Don’t Do” list. 

Eddie didn’t know what Richie meant by it, recognizing that there was a good chance Richie meant nothing by it, but it bothered Eddie. He knew what _he_ wanted Richie to mean by it, that there was something more between them, something greater than friendship. But that was a wish, an ugly desire that Eddie knew would never come true. 

Eddie closed his eyes, listening to the room around him. Machines beeped, voices of the nurses floated in, and Richie’s breathing was a loud and steady sound. Eddie let himself drift off to sleep, allowing the exhaustion of the day to finally overcome him.

___________________

The following two weeks went by in a blur. The Losers slowly departed, starting with Stan, then Bill, then Bev and Ben, and finally Mike. Each departure was preceded by a teary group goodbye in the hospital room. Everyone promised to keep in touch, and they did. Groupchats were made and were used everyday, each of the Losers updating each other on their lives.

It was nice to keep hearing from his friends. Eddie got excited every time his phone buzzed. This continued connection, the knowledge they weren’t forgetting again, and the general easy going left Eddie in a good mood constantly. He passed the days either on his phone or talking with Richie, who stayed with him more often than not. 

Not much changed with Riche after the others left. Now, however, Richie went back to the Town House to sleep, but was back bright and early with breakfast the next morning. He would spend the day in the room, sitting in one of the chairs or on Eddie’s bed. 

In all, it was an uneventful two weeks, especially after the other Losers left. Richie had contacted his lawyer, who was beginning to file for divorce, and told Eddie any updates. Other than that, the two weeks were mostly just Richie and Eddie sitting silently in the hospital room, each doing his own thing, but enjoying the other’s presence. Eddie felt better, stronger. The wound was still tender to the touch, but he could move without hurting it, even walk.

At the end of the second week, Eddie was discharged. Richie had brought him a change of clothes and waited for him in the hallway, talking to the nurses. Eddie changed into the clothes and gathered his meager belongings. 

Eddie looked around his hospital room, the place he spent the better part of a month in. He was glad he was leaving, like the last traces of their fight with Pennywise were disappearing, though that was far from true. He had nightmares almost every night. He didn’t wake up screaming or in a cold sweat, but when they did wake him, he would lie in the dark room with a sense of dread so overpowering he couldn’t move. The nightmare would play in his mind, over and over again, reliving the worst moments of his life.

Most of his nightmares centered around their final fight, around Richie in the deadlights, around his impalement, around the dreadful minutes where he knew he was dying and nothing could stop it. They were vivid, alerting every sense, the noise pounding in his brain. They were terrifying and horrible and made Eddie sad, terribly so. They filled him with a sorrow he had never experienced before, like he was watching someone he loved die and he was helpless. The terror gripped him, yet the sadness sunk into his blood like poison.

Eddie followed Richie out of the hospital and to his rental car. The fresh air felt nice against Eddie’s face, the sun warming his skin. Eddie stopped outside of the car, looking at the sky. It was blue, bright and untouched by a single cloud, like a child’s dream. Eddie smiled, closing his eyes, allowing the feeling of the outdoors become familiar to him once again.

“You’re acting like you’re getting out of prison, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie said, suddenly right beside Eddie. He flung an arm around Eddie’s should and jostled him roughly.

“Fuck off asshole” Eddie said, shoving Richie away. “I haven’t been outside in almost a month.”

“Stop being so dramatic and get in the car.” Richie laughed and went around to the drivers side. 

Eddie got into the front seat and buckled his seat belt. Richie mirrored his actions and started the car and pulled out of the parking space. Before leaving the parking lot, Richie turned on the radio, a Bruce Springsteen song coming through the speakers. Eddie settled into his seat and looked out the window, watching the town he grew up in fly by as Richie drove.

He watched the buildings that seemed so familiar, but weren’t, streak by. It was the same feeling he had when he was walking around after they all split up, an eerie feeling of nostalgia gone wrong, as if he should recognize the place, should know the buildings and the people, but he doesn’t. He had felt this ground under his shoes before, but it has changed, or maybe he did. Maybe he was the one who had grown and developed, while the town degraded, rooted in the same hate that ran rampant during his childhood.

Eddie was not made for Derry, none of the Losers were. They were destined for a greater purpose, to find their lives, their hearts, not in the town but outside of it, in people and cities far away. They were not bound to Derry like the rest of the town, and now, after everything, after they had finally freed Derry, and the world, from the jaws of Pennywise, there was no need to be in Derry. They were free, finally, utterly, free. 

The town had brought the seven of them together, but their friendship was not rooted in the town, did not depend on it. It was rooted in their hearts, in a connection none could explain but all could feel.

“Hey Eddie?” Richie asked. Eddie almost didn’t hear him, caught up in his own thoughts. Eddie turned away from the window.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you come with me to LA?”

The way Richie asked it was casual, as if the answer didn’t matter, but Eddie could see otherwise. Richie stared straight again, glaring intently at the road in front of him. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white.

“Okay.” Eddie said, the word out of his mouth before he could think about his answer.

Eddie didn’t know why he agreed, or why he did so so quickly. He desperately wanted to: to just abandon his life in New York and make a new life in LA, a new life with Richie. He had dreamed of it since he was a kid. Yet his eagerness disgusted him. His fantasy weren’t going to suddenly become real if he moved to LA. Richie wouldn’t fall in love with him, and Eddie knew that so well, the fact bright and bare at all times. The life he imagined for himself wasn’t real and never would be, because people like him never got the happy ending they dreamed about.

It was dangerous to think otherwise, to deceive himself that a life like that was possible. His hopes were crushed in childhood, smashed to pieces by his mother and her vicious hold on him. She demolished any dreams Eddie had of growing up and getting away, especially with his friends.

But now Eddie was ready to prove her wrong. She was six feet under, dead and cold and no longer in control. Eddie could dream again, he could hope for a happy life in a new city with Richie at his side. And it felt good to be dreaming again, to allow himself that happiness. He knew his life wouldn’t be like a dream, there was no way it could be, but despite that, he knew if he went to LA with Richie, his life would be better than any other life he could live.

“I know it is last minute, but you can stay at my place and you can take your time at finding a job, and this way you wouldn’t have to deal with Myra. We can get someone to collect your things from New York, or we can just buy all new things in LA, and—”

“Richie! I said yes.”

Richie blinked and turned his head to Eddie, taking his eyes off the road. He looked as if the heavens had opened up, a look of awed shock present on his face.

Before either of them could say anything, a horn sounded and Richie snapped his eyes back to the road, swerving back into the lane. Richie didn’t look away from the road for the remainder of the ride, keeping his tight grip on the wheel and his steady eyes on the road.

“So you really want to come to LA with me?” Richie asked once he had parked the car. He turned his body as much as he could to face Eddie. He looked like a lost puppy, eyes wide and pleading for an affirmative answer. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, asshole.” Eddie said and looked out the windshield. He softened his voice, letting Richie know he was serious. “I use to think about this as a kid, you know. Leaving for some city together.”

Eddie smiled, memories coming back to him. Talks with Richie and the rest of the Losers about their plans for adulthood, which seems light years away to their thirteen year old selves. It was a mystical age, far from their grasp of reality. They always talked about leaving, getting the hell out of Derry, but where and with who was never the same. The only constant was Richie and Eddie always went together. Whether it was to France or New York or Florida or Chicago; Eddie and Richie never imagined a future where they were apart.

“I did too.” Richie murmured, a soft smile lighting up his face.

They sat in silence, each reminiscing. It hurt, remembering all the ideas and promises made as children that they didn’t keep. No one moved away together, no one kept in touch. They grew up without contact, their promises broken and forgotten. But now they had a new chance, a chance to do it right. The world laid ahead of them, a world where they could finally live out childhood dreams, mend promises and find happiness.

The chime of Richie’s phone broke the silence, making Eddie jump. His own phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Why are you the one person to have their phone not on silent? What are you, sixty?” Eddie said, looking to Richie.

“Do you really get scared from that?” Richie laughed, picking up his phone. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting on hearing a loud sudden noise! I have my phone on silent like every other sane person!”

“If my phone is on silent, then I wouldn’t be alert when your mom calls me.”

“Why do you think that joke is still funny, dude? And she’s dead anyways, so it doesn’t even work anymore!”

Eddie threw up his hands, realizing Richie wasn’t listening to him anymore, focused instead on his phone and whatever the message was. Eddie sighed and took out his own phone, going to his messages.

Bev had sent a picture showing Ben in the ocean alongside a boat. He was flipping off the camera, but a laugh was frozen on his face. Along with the picture, Bev sent the text: “I don’t think he liked being pushed in”

“That’s really cute.” Eddie said, smiling at his phone. Seeing Ben and Bev happy was such a calming sight. They were finally moving on from Derry, moving on from Pennywise. The world was making sense again. Before it was dull and broken and an ugly place to live, but now it is full of color and warmth.

“If you want to be pushed into water, I can do that, it’s not that hard.” Richie said and got out of the car.

“That’s not what I mean, asshole.” Eddie shouted as he followed Richie out of the car. He slammed the door and crossed his arms, staring at Richie.

“I know.” Richie said, joining Eddie on the other side of the car. He flashed a smile, which Eddie did not return. “Ben and Bev are disgustingly cute, like a high school couple who won’t stop making out in the hallways.”

Eddie scrunched in nose in disgust, the analogy creating a too vivid picture of his high school days. Bev and Ben weren’t that publicly affectionate, at least not yet. Eddie dreaded to think of the day that they were.

“But don’t worry, Eds my friend.” Richie went on, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “It won’t always be me here offering to push you into some water. Someday it will be the man of your dreams.”

Richie smiled a lopsided smile and patted his shoulder once before removing his hand.

Eddie wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that the man of his dreams was already right here. He wanted to tell him he didn’t want to be like Ben and Bev, but like Richie and Eddie, with their jokes and argument and quiet moments of caring that they never talk about. Eddie wanted to tell him the man of his dreams had already pushed him into water, to many times to count, as children enjoying the summer. He wanted to tell Richie that he wasn’t worried about not finding someone to love him like Bev loved Ben, because the way Richie loved him now was enough. He didn’t want that love to change, didn’t need to it change. It was perfect the way it is, with his jokes and quality time and something lingering under the surface of their interactions that Eddie could feel but not define.

Eddie forced a smile back, smothering down all his desires.

“Come on, Richie. I’m tired.” Eddie said, moving away from the car, towards the Town House, which stood tall before him. 

They walked up the steps together, Richie leading the way, though they walked side by side. He lead them up the stairs and to one of the identical doors in the hallway, opening it and stepping in, leaving the door open for Eddie.

The room was like Eddie’s old one, except there were two beds. The bathroom was off to the left of the room, the door open. Eddie’s mind flashed back to his last time in his bathroom, a spike of panic coursing through him. The wound on his cheek throbbed as an abrupt fear that Bowers was in the bathroom came over him. He pried his eyes away from the bathroom door and took a deep breath, cool air rushing in, filling his tight lungs.

Richie suddenly made his way to the bathroom, a step away from entering before Eddie spoke.

“Wait!”

The word was shot out in a panic, high pitched and sharp. The word stopped Richie in his tracks, turning questioningly to Eddie.

Eddie didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to explain his sudden fear that Bowers was in there when Eddie knew Richie had killed him. Eddie didn’t want to seem paranoid, or that he wasn’t coping with his trauma as well as the others.

“Eddie?” Richie asked as Eddie stayed quite. He took a step away from the bathroom, the movement filling Eddie with a relief he wished he didn’t need.

Eddie shook his head, trying to shake away his fear. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Dude, what is it?”

Eddie ran a hand down his face, letting out a sigh.

“I just thought, what if Bowers was in there.” Eddie said and sat on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands. “I know, it’s stupid. You can laugh at me now.”

Eddie stared at the floor, waiting for Richie’s laughing, his teasing that Eddie was too paranoid, that he should chill out. But it didn’t come. Instead, Eddie felt the bed sink beside him as Richie sat down. Eddie looked up at him, seeing a haunted look in his face, reminiscent of the expression he wore the first day Eddie woke up. It was as if Richie was reliving something, seeing a scene play out in front of him that no one else could see, a scene that troubled him, that scared him.

“I know what you mean.” Richie mumbled. Eddie shivered, the tone not one Eddie heard Richie use before. It was sad and deep, hinting at something Eddie didn’t understand. It was lost, the same way his eyes held a far away look, as if he was somewhere else, remembering something else, as if he was in a waking nightmare.

“Sometimes I can’t stand being beside a sink or a sewer drain, so terrified of the possibility of hearing It’s voice again.” Richie nodded to himself, his eyes still focused on something far away. “Sometimes I have to remind myself that this is real, that you’re alive and I’m not dreaming. And sometimes, if I haven’t seen you for a while, I get paralyized with this sudden fear that you actually died down there, and I can’t shake the fear until I see you again.”

Richie laughed, a sad noise that broke Eddie’s heart. Richie blinked and looked at Eddie, the haunted look no longer in his eyes. He seemed surprisingly focused.

“I seriously don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t agree to come to LA with me. Isn’t that so fucking sad? A grown man not being able to function without confirming his friend is alive every hour?”

Richie ran a hand through his hair and smiled, trying to act like he wasn’t bothered by what he was confessing.

Eddie didn’t know how to respond. What could he say to this expression of concern, this worry that Eddie wished was irrational, that there was no basis for Richie to be scared of Eddie dying. And the sad truth was that he was living with the same fear, the same paranoia that he would wake up one day and everything had been fake, one last trick by Pennywise. He was scared that one day he would wake and he would be back in that cavern with the gaping wound in his stomach, dying. That all of this was a dream formed by his dying mind, trying to give him some semblance of happiness before he died.

“I guess we’re both pretty fucked up.” Eddie said, giving Richie a sad smile. Richie barked out a laugh, sharp and ugly, yet the sound made Eddie’s heart beat easier.

“That’s the biggest understatement of the fucking year.”

They both laughed, though the sound was jaded, not full of the usual warmth that accompanied their laughter. This was laughter made by two broken people desperately trying to not feel broken, desperately trying to hide the fact that they are damaged. It was laughter that made them feel connected in their pain, because it was either laughing or crying and laughter was the easier choice. With laughter they didn’t have to acknowledge their fears or their trauma; laughter can smother their pain, just acknowledging that they are broken, not confronting it. It was shaking hands with the devil but not making the deal.

And that was how it always was, even as children. It was always either laughing or crying. Confronting the true reality of their demons, or brushing past them, deflecting their pain with jokes and laughter that always boarded too close to hysteria. 

To face their issues head on was a terrifying thing. To talk about what happened to them without reverting to jokes was deadly, something that they, all seven of them, couldn’t handle. The mind is too weak to think about it all without breaking. It needs some relief, a saving grace in the form of jokes and laughter. If there is no relief, then the mind will shatter, piercing their hearts, destroying them. Leaving them alone, unable to pick up the pieces, unable to fit them together again like broken pottery. If they let their minds break, they would be lost, the world meaningless, a dark and hopeless pit of despair and horror. Laughter held the pieces together with shaky hands, saving their mind from complete destruction.


End file.
